


Polestar

by Kantayra



Series: The Best-Laid Plans (Atobe/Tezuka) [15]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Drama, Families of Choice, Friendship, Future Fic, Light Bondage, M/M, Married Life, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: Tezuka and Atobe are having the best season of their lives, both working their way toward the US Open final. However, as their own rankings are rising, Echizen's is mysteriously falling. Fortunately, the two of them are uniquely qualified to consult on this particular brand of drama. If only Atobe had known, when he'd married Tezuka, that he'd be de-facto adopting Tezuka's sullen protege, as well.





	1. Chapter 1

“Tezuka-san!”

Tezuka sighed. He'd been hearing the honorific more than usual as the tournament wore on. The Japanese press were, frankly, in an absolutely tizzy that his win today had guaranteed that, for the first time ever, two Japanese players (of ancestry if not necessarily of national affiliation) would play each other in the finals of the US Open.

Tezuka turned to give the reporter his usual brush-off since, even if it was the break between sets, he was still _watching_ his two potential opponents for the finals. However, upon seeing the reporter, he paused and blinked. He actually knew this one and even had not-unfavorable memories of him, which – for Tezuka with regard to reporters – was nothing short of a miracle.

“Ah… Inoue-san, was it?” Tezuka switched to Japanese out of consideration, somewhat surprised at the unexpected reunion.

“I’m honored that you remember me,” Inoue said, looking grayer around the temples but still very much as he had back when he’d been covering the Japanese middle-school team tournaments all those years ago. “I wanted to congratulate you on advancing to the finals.”

Tezuka accepted graciously and couldn’t fight his own curiosity: “What are you doing here?”

Inoue laughed. “This is a big story: national news. Monthly Pro Tennis put together the funding to fly me out, hoping we’d get a Japan vs. Japan finals.”

“I, of course, officially play for Germany,” Tezuka pointed out politely.

“Of course, you do. But you first trained in Japan.”

Tezuka grunted because that was true enough, and he’d known that the Japanese press would see it that way. Japan technically had more of a claim on him than it did on Echizen, who had only spent that one freshman season in Tokyo, but the Japanese press were claiming Echizen, too. It really had turned into quite a circus.

“It’s good to see you again,” Inoue said. “I am terribly sorry for interrupting you during the match, but I wondered if you had time to answer a few quick questions?”

Tezuka considered for a second and then nodded. Inoue, Tezuka supposed, had earned himself a bit of a scoop since they went so far back together.

“Your semi-finals match went very quickly this morning. Any thoughts on how you approached facing Kline?”

“I faced him the same way I face every opponent,” Tezuka said. “I played carefully, observed his responses closely, and stressed the techniques to which he showed openings.”

Inoue nodded. Tezuka dimly recalled that he was skilled enough at analyzing a game that he could no doubt fill in many of the details Tezuka omitted. “And is that how you plan to approach the finals, as well?”

“Of course,” Tezuka agreed. “You know how I prepare for a match.”

“Any predictions on who you’ll be facing? Right now, Echizen has quite a comeback to make.”

Tezuka turned back to the court and glanced at the scoreboard. The first set had been close, with Echizen barely losing 6-7 in the tie-break at 10-12. The second set had been neck-and-neck, 3-all, then 3-4, and then Echizen had barely lost his service game, putting him down 3-5…

“Echizen is known for his comebacks,” Tezuka said simply, “as you well know. It’s best not to get careless before the match is over.”

“Will it make the finals easier or more difficult for you if you end up playing your husband?” Inoue asked. Many reporters danced around saying the word ‘husband’ directly, but Inoue said it matter-of-factly, without breaking eye-contact with Tezuka once. Tezuka liked him even better for that.

Tezuka cast a quick glance at Atobe, who was stretching slowly, almost methodically, before the third set started. Tezuka felt a shudder of anticipation; Atobe’s Tannhäuser had only grown sharper, wickeder, over the years. He’d shut Echizen out completely in his last service game, to finally win the second set 6-3.

“I don’t plan to let my guard down around either of them,” Tezuka answered. “I’ve played them both often enough to know better than that. Atobe more so than Echizen in recent years, but they’re both extremely challenging.”

The break ended just then, and Echizen stalked back onto the courts in that aggressive, snappish way of his. Atobe looked cooler just then, collected; he knew just as well as Tezuka did how Echizen got once he’d fallen behind.

Tezuka’s attention returned fully to the game as Echizen moved to serve. Wherever Inoue had been sitting, he stayed in the aisle beside Tezuka’s seat so as not to miss the beginning of the game.

Echizen’s serve had gained a harsher spin over time, too. Tezuka breathed when Atobe returned it with his usual skill, and the rally began. Atobe was playing better than usual today, his focus narrowed perfectly, no inefficiencies or hesitations to his movements. He hit the ball an inch out of Echizen’s reach to make it 0-15, then Echizen did vice-versa to make it 15-all, and then Atobe got Echizen with a solid smash to pull ahead again.

Next to Tezuka, Inoue was scratching frantic notes in his steno pad.

The first game was even through deuce, and then Atobe got the advantage. Tezuka could see Atobe’s mind working, waiting for Echizen to somehow break out of the bounds of the game the way he always did, primed and as ready as anyone could ever be against Echizen.

Which was why it was so surprising (and yet not surprising at all) when Atobe hit a return ace.

“Game, Atobe. 1 game to 0,” the referee announced while Echizen and Atobe switched sides.

Losing his first service game would only provoke Echizen further, and Tezuka needed to keep a cautious eye on what Echizen came up with next, lest he face it in the finals.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Tezuka-san. It looks like whatever Echizen has planned, he’s saving it for the last minute,” Inoue said in parting to Tezuka as he hurried back to his seat during the switch.

“Hmm,” Tezuka agreed and turned his focus back to the game.

Atobe used Tannhäuser throughout, which made Tezuka wince a little, because it hurt Tezuka’s back just _looking_ at that serve. It seemed Atobe was going all-out and trusting that he could recover for the finals the day after tomorrow. If Tezuka ended up playing Atobe, he could use that knowledge.

Halfway through the game, it looked like Echizen might be on to something about how to counter the (frankly, thoroughly obnoxious, Tezuka thought) serve, and Echizen clipped one return into the net. But Echizen didn’t manage to repeat on the next point, and Atobe was up 2-0.

Around this time, Tezuka started to get antsy. Atobe, who had the advantage of actually being able to _play_ to let off his steam, kept a calm head. Tezuka had always found watching matches more nerve-wracking than playing them for exactly that reason.

With each game, Tezuka kept expecting Echizen to begin his comeback, and each time Echizen failed to, the tension mounted in Tezuka even further.

By the time Atobe had Echizen down 4-0 and Echizen moved to serve what could become his last service game, Tezuka just _knew_ it was coming. Echizen hit the ball just outside the line at the end of the first rally. On the second, Atobe faked him out with a brilliantly timed drop-shot, followed by a brutal passing shot. On the third, Echizen’s ball skimmed the net and didn’t go over in the middle of what should have been a much longer rally. And, on the fourth…

“Fault!”

Tezuka blinked in surprise when Echizen’s serve actually _missed_ the service box. Tezuka could practically count the number of times he’d seen Echizen do that in his career, total.

Echizen’s eyes were blazing, but he seemed more scattered than usual as he set up his next serve. Tezuka tensed, watched, and blinked again.

“Double fault!” This time it had hit squarely in the middle of the net. “Atobe leads, 5 games to 0.”

Tezuka frowned and, on the court, Atobe did as well. Echizen was going to have to beat Tannhäuser now, or else Atobe was going to have to be too worn out to maintain it. Tezuka watched Atobe set up his serve, though, and he knew that insanely dogged look in Atobe’s eyes: Atobe wasn’t going to falter even for a second.

Nevertheless, Tezuka held his breath for the entire game, waiting, waiting…

“Game, set, and match, Keigo Atobe! Final score: 7-6 (12-10), 6-3, 6-0.”

…And Echizen _never did it_.

Tezuka sat there, stupefied, while Atobe (looking a little bit the same) offered his hand to Echizen. Echizen brushed it half-rudely and stalked off. Atobe’s game had been flawless, Tezuka would readily admit, but still that had been the _weirdest_ match Tezuka had ever seen Echizen play. Even when Echizen had lost to Tezuka repeatedly throughout junior high, he’d at least _tried_ different techniques. The Echizen of today hadn’t seemed like the Echizen that Tezuka had seen in the past. Perhaps he was injured?

Tezuka shook the thought off, because Atobe had found Tezuka in the stands and was staring directly at him defiantly. Atobe raised his racket up to point right at Tezuka in challenge, blue eyes sharp and determined, flamboyant and calculating all at once, as usual.

Tezuka’s breath caught in his throat, because Atobe was beautiful and formidable and Tezuka honestly couldn’t imagine how he could wait over 36 hours to play him. The slightest of smiles curved the edge of Tezuka’s lips (so small that the rest of his acquaintances insisted that Tezuka wasn’t smiling at all, but not Atobe, who had always _always_ seen it), and Tezuka nodded to Atobe once in acknowledgement.

The stage was set for the finals. Let the better man win.


	2. Chapter 2

Atobe had taken a cooling-off day because, honestly, he’d overwrought himself in the match against Echizen. Fortunately, most of the damage that he’d done playing so intensely had been counteracted by the fact that the match had ended so abruptly. Atobe had honestly expected that match to be a lot harder to win.

Nonetheless, Atobe had focused the off-day on recovering his stamina as much as possible. Stephan had given him an extra rub-down (the man had miraculous hands), and he’d eaten every strange thing his coaches had suggested without complaint, and he’d soaked in the hot tub, stretched thoroughly, and taken as many sessions in the sauna as he could stand. He was as physically rested as he could possibly get in one day before his match with Tezuka.

Tezuka himself had been wandering away from and back to Atobe’s side all day, as their regimens naturally differed. They watched most of the women’s finals together, but Tezuka had never taken to heat-training the way Atobe did, so Atobe had much of the day to himself. Atobe spent most of that time with opera in his earbuds, blocking out the frenzy around him, trying to stay composed, focused on his plan, while simultaneously not overthinking the upcoming match. It was a delicate mental balance, but Atobe was well-experienced at it by now.

He’d been in his final sauna-session of the day, lying back completely naked on one large beach towel ( _you’re welcome, universe!_ ), a second hand-towel thrown over his eyes to block out the overhead light, when Echizen abruptly stormed in out of absolutely nowhere.

“You,” Echizen accused, which was how Atobe knew who it was because he still hadn’t removed the towel from his eyes, “Monkey King.”

Atobe sighed. Some things never changed. “What?” he demanded. He’d never been able to entirely decide whether he and Echizen were good friends, or whether he wanted to punch Echizen in the teeth. Tezuka, who tended to be more charitable than Atobe on such matters, had once confessed that he felt pretty much the same way.

“I want a rematch,” Echizen announced, panting slightly, which was strange. It was hot in the sauna, of course, but Echizen hadn’t been there long enough to be so out of breath. He must have been doing something highly exhausting for the usual cool of his voice to have broken so completely.

“Impossible,” Atobe informed him. “The finals are tomorrow.”

“Right. Fine,” Echizen conceded sullenly. “I want a rematch after that.”

With longing regret for the perfect, calm state of mind that Atobe had _finally_ gotten himself into, he reluctantly pulled the hand towel off his eyes to look at Echizen. Echizen hadn’t even taken off his trainers before bursting in the sauna, and his eyes actually looked a little wild, bloodshot, which was very out-of-character for Echizen, so much so that Atobe half sat up abruptly.

“Are you all ri—?” he began.

“ _Fine_ ,” Echizen cut him off sharply. “Just as soon as you agree to give me a rematch.”

Atobe hesitated. Echizen was, unquestionably, acting oddly. Atobe pulled together a series of thoughts slowly that indicated that perhaps Echizen hadn’t been himself for some time. He’d been eliminated in a tight match in the quarter-finals of the Australian Open that year, then he’d drawn the top seed in the French Open for the fourth round, and then he’d lost badly in the third round at Wimbledon. There were several smaller ATP tournaments that Echizen usually won, that he’d missed this year for no reason Atobe had ever been able to discern. Atobe had assumed it was all due to an injury of some sort; Echizen had always been especially close-mouthed about that sort of thing, as one would expect. Echizen’s ranking had fallen that year, but Atobe hadn’t paid it any particular mind, writing it off as an unlucky season.

Now, though, Atobe studied Echizen with his full attention. He vaguely recalled that Echizen’s life situation had been even weirder than usual that Christmas break: He’d shared a chalet with several other players on the circuit, of both genders, and Atobe knew fully well that the chalet, which his parents owned, only had one bedroom (although with a bed large enough to accommodate five).

Neither he nor Tezuka had asked at the time, but then Echizen had all but exploded with unusual tastes since he’d hit puberty. Over the past several years, he’d never brought the same plus-one (or occasionally plus-two through -four) to Christmas the same year twice, seemed to exhibit no clear preferences any way (male or female, players or not), and seemed equally inclined to dump just about anyone unceremoniously (often resulting in shocking exposés, on the occasion that the dumpee was a reporter). After growing up with such a bizarre family situation (Atobe didn’t know the details, but one didn’t need to know Echizen’s father particularly well to realize that he was a dreadful influence), it followed that Echizen’s life wouldn’t exactly be what one would call stable, although his game had never followed the erratic pattern that everything else did. Until now, apparently.

“Well?” Echizen demanded, looking disturbingly unhinged while Atobe processed all this.

Atobe shook his head. “We’re bound to play in another tournament soon enough. Can’t you just—?”

“No,” Echizen said stubbornly, taking a step closer. “Play me.”

If it had been anyone else, Atobe might have felt intimidated at this point. Most people had the common sense not to aggressively corner someone who was naked; it put Atobe at something of a disadvantage. However, Atobe had several inches and some size-appropriate number of pounds on Echizen, so it wasn't that Echizen was physically menacing. It was more that the worst parts of Echizen’s personally were so wildly exaggerated, like Echizen was close to snapping.

“Look,” Atobe said wearily, “I know you’ve got some neurosis about losing in official tournaments, but you can’t go around challenging every player you lose to for the rest of your life. We’ll play again, probably this season even. Focus on training for your next match for now.” Honestly, in other circumstances, Atobe probably would have indulged Echizen. They’d had plenty of unofficial matches in the past, after all. But Echizen was bordering on obsessive right now, and Atobe’s gut told him that _someone_ had to finally tell the kid no and stick to it.

Echizen balked, as expected, and snorted. “Always knew you were a coward,” he said snidely, although it was weaker than his usual smack talk, almost a caricature of himself.

“If you choose to believe that, fine,” Atobe said. “Whatever it takes for you to _move on_.”

Echizen’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re still _jealous_?” he teased, sounding unbearably snotty just then. “After all these years? Worried that Tezuka’s still hung up on me?”

Atobe snorted, loudly. There was honestly nothing he worried less about these days, than Tezuka’s fidelity.

Echizen’s eyes darted down for a second, to Atobe’s mouth and then more boldly to his groin, and he took another step closer. “Or maybe Tezuka’s the one who should be jealous?” he teased, leaning in.

Atobe’s finger came up to stop Echizen’s mouth before he could even try to make a fool of himself. This was another pattern of Echizen’s: after an opponent beat him especially, he’d take his opponent on as a fuck-buddy just until he fully surpassed him, and then dump him by the wayside. Atobe had absolutely zero interest in playing out Echizen’s weird little power game, especially when Atobe belonged wholly to _Tezuka_ , who was intelligent, passionate, handsome, witty, and – most importantly for the purposes of this particular comparison – not completely batshit insane.

Honestly, Atobe was surprised Echizen had made the move. Echizen had often taunted Tezuka that he had a thing for Atobe (as he’d taunted Atobe that he had a thing for Tezuka), but Atobe had never seen any evidence that Echizen was genuinely interested in _either_ of them (beyond the baseline lust that most of the population felt for Atobe’s exquisite body, of course). Atobe had written the whole thing off as an (effective) act Echizen pulled to get under Atobe’s and Tezuka’s skins before critical matches. He’d never imagined Echizen would take things this far.

“You’d best recall that Tezuka is your friend, for now,” Atobe said icily, pushing Echizen back away from him. “As am I.”

Echizen glared at him rather murderously, but when he looked down and saw just how completely disinterested Atobe genuinely was, his anger deflated a little, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“We’ll have a rematch when the tournaments dictate it, and not a second before,” Atobe informed him crisply. “You need to learn that a defeat is just a defeat, not some weird lesson in public humiliation that you need to avenge. Just like every other player who’s ever lost a match, you can wait. There are plenty of other opponents out there for you.”

Echizen opened his mouth like he was about to snap back again, but then the door to the sauna opened, and Tezuka entered wearing nothing but a tiny white towel around his delectably slender hips.

“Are you, uh, done?” Tezuka hesitated for one moment at Echizen’s absolutely thunderous expression and bizarre state of complete dress.

Echizen shot one last glare at Atobe and stalked right past Tezuka out of the sauna.

Tezuka blinked and turned back to Atobe, who was now rising from the sauna bench with a long, satisfying stretch. Atobe couldn’t help but preen a little when Tezuka wet his lips at the sight of Atobe’s toned, sweaty muscles.

“Hi,” Tezuka finally said weakly.

“Hi,” Atobe smirked deliberately, slowly wrapping his towel around his waist and fastening it.

Tezuka shook his head and looked pointedly away. Atobe relented because it really was unfair to tantalize Tezuka too badly right before they played each other.

“That seemed…tense,” Tezuka finally said, looking back out the sauna door to where Echizen had tramped off in the direction of the locker rooms.

“Very,” Atobe agreed. “Even for Echizen.”

“Are you all right?” Tezuka finally asked hesitantly.

“Well enough,” Atobe sighed. “Let’s go home. I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this is as close as I will ever come to writing Atobe/Echizen (or Tezuka/Echizen, or Tezuka/Atobe/Echizen, for that matter), in case anyone was worried about that. (And, if anyone was hopeful: sorry! :P)


	3. Chapter 3

The press always wanted to know what Atobe and Tezuka’s home life was like before they played a match against each other. Tezuka had always thought it was a very silly question: it was exactly like the night before any match, with the sole exception that they didn’t bounce strategy ideas off each other, for obvious reasons.

‘Home’ in this case was one of the high-rise apartments that Atobe’s parents kept in New York for business. Atobe related the entire encounter with Echizen to Tezuka while the limo was stuck in traffic. By the time they finally arrived home, the slightest of furrows clouded Tezuka’s brow.

“You’re upset,” Atobe said when he’d dropped off his tennis bag in the entryway and padded into the open kitchen to prepare dinner. “I’m sorry. I should have waited until after the finals to tell you.”

Tezuka shook his head at this and followed Atobe into the kitchen to accept the knife and cutting board, as was his due. Neither of them had planned for Atobe to be the cook, but it had ended up that way through purely practical division of labor. Tezuka’s skills extended to exactly three culinary styles: boiled, under-boiled, and over-boiled. Atobe wasn’t much more flexible (soup, curry, stir-fry, and sauté), but all of those options were equally edible. As such, Atobe had graciously alleviated Tezuka of this particular chore. In exchange, Tezuka got to chop all the vegetables, since that was well within his capabilities.

“You’re upset, too,” Tezuka said as he began cutting. “At least now we’re even.”

Atobe didn’t comment and put the rice on.

After a solid minute of steady chopping, Tezuka paused to drop the first batch of vegetables into the skillet Atobe had left out. “And,” Tezuka finally added, “at least this way Echizen can’t ambush me with the fact that he tried to kiss you, before you could tell me.”

“Hmm,” Atobe agreed, and undoubtedly the thought had occurred to him as well.

If Echizen had been playing Tezuka tomorrow, he _certainly_ would have tried it. Something like that was textbook Echizen psychological warfare. Atobe stirred the next batch of vegetables Tezuka gave him, while Tezuka watched with some consternation how everything cooked so _evenly_ when Atobe did it, even when he was preoccupied by other matters.

Finally, Atobe confessed, “I found it exceptionally unnerving, actually. He wasn’t his usual self.”

Tezuka paused in his cutting for one second, fought down the bubbling rage within him that Echizen had _dared_ , and then resumed chopping with his usual aplomb. “After the finals, I’ll have a talk with him.”

Atobe bristled instinctively. “I don’t need you to fight my battles,” he snapped.

Atobe could be prickly when he felt someone was underestimating him. So, when Tezuka came up behind him to turn over the last of the chopped vegetables, he rested his hand at the small of Atobe’s back and breathed warmly against the elegant curve of Atobe’s shoulder, in an attempt to gentle him. “Not like that,” Tezuka said hastily. “Just… Someone should check up on him. And I’m…”

“The hand he’s least likely to bite off?” Atobe suggested as a peace offering.

Tezuka snorted. “Something like that,” he agreed. When Atobe turned to face him, Tezuka’s hands came up to cup Atobe’s cheeks, and he gave Atobe a quick peck on the lips. “Do you need me for anything else? I’d like to check my messages before dinner.”

Atobe brushed him aside. He tended to prefer to be alone while he cooked, which suited Tezuka just fine.

Tezuka retreated to the bedroom, found his laptop under a stack of books Atobe had moved from the dresser, and scrolled through his messages while he waited for dinner. Fuji and Oishi and Inui were in there, congratulating him, as well as several members of their tennis club back in Munich, a number of friends Tezuka had played with in high-school in Germany, two of their opponents who were out injured for the season, and Tezuka’s father. Tezuka deleted the last without even reading it.

Jürgen wanted to chat at that point, but Tezuka begged off when the delightful smell of savory spices started wafting from the kitchen into the back corner of the apartment that Tezuka had curled into. The promise of food finally lured Tezuka back out, with a hopeful, “That smells good,” as he entered the kitchen.

“I’m almost done,” Atobe said, sounding calmer now, as if the routine of cooking had soothed his mind. “Can you set the table?"

Tezuka laid out the plates so that Atobe could divvy up the curry between the two of them. They ate in silence, both of them mulling their upcoming match, maybe sneaking slightly more assessing looks at each other than usual.

Tezuka smiled that half-smile that he knew made Atobe’s heart pound, when he and Atobe caught each other looking at the same time, and he pointed to Atobe’s still-untouched water glass with his chopsticks. “Don’t forget to keep hydrated.”

Atobe took Tezuka’s advice, a warm smile curving his own lips at the care in Tezuka’s words.

Tezuka took pride in that. Even as adversaries, the two of them always cared more about playing the greatest game possible than the final winner. Tezuka wouldn’t settle for anything less than Atobe at his absolute best, with no handicaps, and Tezuka knew that Atobe felt exactly the same way. Whoever won, tomorrow was going to be _spectacular_.

“That was wonderful,” Tezuka said softly when they were finished eating, and he moved to take away the dishes. “Thank you for cooking.”

“Hmm,” Atobe agreed and moved in to steal a quick peck of his own, albeit spicier this time. “Do you mind if I listen to music before bed? I confess my mind still isn’t where it should be.”

“Of course not,” Tezuka agreed, “…as long as it’s something reasonable.” Tezuka didn’t _think_ Atobe would listen to bouncy, obnoxious K-pop as meditation music the night before the US Open finals, but it was never wise to let one’s guard down about the depths of Atobe’s strangeness.

“Puccini?” Atobe suggested as he retreated into the bedroom, no doubt to turn on the stereo.

“That would be lovely.” It seemed Atobe was going for melodramatic opera instead. Tezuka certainly didn’t mind, but it just further reinforced his opinion of Atobe’s quirkiness.

The orchestra swelled as Atobe shut the door. Tezuka stayed in the living room and dragged out Atobe’s tablet and a pair of earbuds so he could watch the latest crime drama he’d been streaming religiously; Atobe had watched the first few episodes with him, but then he’d started to do his regular thing where he guessed all the plot twists before they happened, and Tezuka had to yell at him for spoiling a series he’d never even watched before. Atobe claimed that writers were just that predictable, although Tezuka had never found them so. In any case, Tezuka was now watching the series solo, which Atobe didn’t seem to mind at all.

It was a good, mindless activity, where Tezuka could let his subconscious percolate over what he was going to do about Atobe’s service games tomorrow. After yesterday, there was no way Atobe could try to shut him out with the Tannhäuser, at least, but Tezuka wouldn’t put it past Atobe to drag it out and half kill himself in the final set if he got ahead in the game-count.

After two episodes, the clock informed Tezuka that it was time for bed. He hadn’t heard a peep from Atobe in that time, which wasn’t as unusual as one might believe. Everyone, even Atobe, sometimes liked a relaxing, drama-free evening at home.

Tezuka entered the bedroom to find Atobe lying on his side in bed with his back turned toward Tezuka’s bedside light that he’d graciously left on. Tezuka felt warmth seep into his chest at Atobe’s consideration. He sincerely hoped the quiet-time had allowed Atobe to get himself back into a good frame of mind; mental state was so important to the psychological game Atobe liked to play, and Tezuka wanted the most brilliant game Atobe could provide tomorrow.

The music was turned down low, soft and hypnotic and hauntingly beautiful. Sibelius, Tezuka thought. No more of the bombastic opera from earlier.

Tezuka turned off the light and slid into bed carefully, in case Atobe was asleep, but a murmur of surprise escaped Atobe’s lips, “Aren’t you going to read before bed?”

Tezuka whispered a soft “no,” and curled around Atobe from behind, spooning him. A possessiveness overtook him in that moment, the sudden, sharp, satisfying knowledge that Atobe was _his_. He pulled back the collar of Atobe’s sleeping t-shirt to press his lips gently to the top of Atobe's shoulder, and felt Atobe let out a shaky sigh. Atobe tilted his neck invitingly, and Tezuka moved into him further, leaving a trail of wet kisses up Atobe’s neck where he was most sensitive.

“I can’t wait,” Tezuka let out a hot breath right over Atobe’s pulse point, “until I get to beat you tomorrow.” A hint of teeth pressed down on the tenderest, most delicate flesh of Atobe’s throat, in clear challenge.

Atobe laughed and reached back with one hand to tangle his fingers in the hair at Tezuka’s nape and hold Tezuka’s mouth prisoner right there. “Stop it. You’ll make me feel guilty for crushing your hopes when I finally defeat you. After all, I wouldn’t want you to lose your enthusiasm.”

Tezuka snorted against Atobe’s throat and then began kissing a line up Atobe’s jaw. Atobe rolled over onto his back in response, so that their mouths brushed and their breaths comingled.

“I think there’s very little danger at this point of anything making me lose my enthusiasm,” Tezuka confessed, and then he moved in to plunder Atobe’s mouth.

Their kiss was deep but intimate, familiar but soul-searching, and for once they both pulled away before the passion could fully ignite between them. Best to keep all that pent-up sexual frustration for their match tomorrow. Really, it was a wonder to Tezuka that the networks still rated their matches G.

“Goodnight, Atobe,” Tezuka said, moving reluctantly to lie on his side, head back down on the pillow.

“Goodnight, my beloved,” Atobe returned, and rolled onto his side so that he was facing Tezuka now, their bodies tangling comfortably, casually in the dark.

Tezuka watched him drift to sleep, before Tezuka allowed the sound of the music and Atobe’s even breathing to carry him off.

Tomorrow was going to be a day to remember.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tennis, tennis, and more tennis! Exactly the way Tezuka and Atobe like it. ~_^

Atobe poured his back-up water bottle over his head, letting it stream down his face and neck in rivulets that did nothing to fight the baking heat of the sun overhead. Doubtlessly, in homes all across the world, men and women swooned helplessly to the ground at the sight on their televisions.

Not so Atobe’s opponent, who was very deliberately not looking Atobe’s way while drinking like a sensible person out of his own water bottle. Atobe let a frisson of excitement run down his spine at his opponent’s implacable performance so far. _This_ was the kind of match he lived for: dead even after the first four sets, and tied 5-5 in the final set, neither of them showing the slightest weakness, each relentless and remorseless.

 _And he’s my husband_ , the thought sneaked past Atobe’s defenses. _He’s MINE, forevermore._

Atobe shook the thought aside. There could be nothing else but the match. Any outside relationship was banished from his perfect, narrow focus that was now set upon only one task: _win_.

Mind-game fully back in place, Atobe returned to his place on the court. He only needed to win one more point, one more game, one more set. He let the certainty of his triumph wash over him and met the incoming serve with every ounce of confidence and skill he possessed.

His opponent was playing the long game this time: drawing each point out, curling the ball in toward him on each return to keep Atobe running and himself the still-point. Atobe indulged this play because it suited him well enough: he was never going to beat this opponent in raw technique; it would always be the mental battle that won it for Atobe in the end.

Over the years, Atobe had known plenty of players who had run themselves ragged trying to beat Tezuka’s zone; they had all missed a key point, which was that Tezuka was never to be battered head-on. Tezuka had to be coaxed, sidetracked, misdirected, _seduced_ , and then, at the perfect moment, closed in on for the sweetest victories Atobe had ever tasted. When Tezuka turned more powerful, Atobe always turned trickier, which was an effective enough strategy to give him the first point of the game.

Tezuka’s eyes narrowed, and his next serve nearly blew by Atobe, but Atobe knew Tezuka well enough that his body reacted instinctively to counter. His return was weaker than he would have preferred, but enough. In response, Tezuka’s drive volley seemed almost petulant.

Atobe watched the ball bounce just in, then impact with the fence with a resounding crash. He gave Tezuka a look, one eyebrow raised.

“Be awed at my prowess?” Tezuka suggested playfully.

And before Atobe could help himself, a laugh escaped his lips. Tezuka brought up his right hand to hide his own chuckle as he returned to the baseline. God, how Atobe loved playing this man…

Tezuka’s next serve was just as sharp, but _lighter_ somehow. Not in terms of speed or power, but in the sense that Atobe could somehow _feel_ that Tezuka was having more fun after that little joke. They’d been so caught up in the competition until now, but when Atobe returned this time, _he_ was enjoying himself more, too.

And why not? This was their time, their finals. This was a precious occasion to be savored, a match they’d look back on for the rest of their lives with fondness. For a split second, Atobe let himself worry not so much about winning but instead about cherishing the play itself. That was what tennis was in the end: just a game that they both loved to play together, above all things.

The mindset, strange as it was, suddenly made the flow of the game easier for Atobe. Joy washed away fatigue, and elation blew away all calculation. He was dimly aware that his body was moving brilliantly, but it was nothing he’d planned out; his movements were merely the natural steps in the dance he and Tezuka were engaged in together.

Points swept by, slowly but at the same time too fast, because Atobe didn’t ever want this game to end. He was only indistinctly aware when the referee called the game in Atobe’s favor; the importance of having finally broken Tezuka’s serve registered somewhere where Atobe would recall it later, but at the moment he honestly didn’t care.

The referee gave him an odd look when they switched courts, and Atobe realized that he was _smiling_ , probably like a loon, high on tennis. Tezuka didn’t look surprised, though. In fact, Tezuka, in his understated way that no one else could see, looked exactly the way Atobe felt.

Atobe knew that he should close the set out with his Tannhäuser, but that would mean no more rallying, and that was clearly unacceptable. If the choice was between murdering his back for a guaranteed win and being able to keep playing with a potential loss, all favor weighed on the latter for Atobe in this moment.

Tezuka did look a little bit surprised at Atobe’s normal serve, but he returned it just as gleefully, both of them happy to keep playing for themselves (and all their spectators) for as long as they could manage.

Atobe was startled almost out of his state when the referee eventually announced his match point. He had one moment of consciousness, in which he processed the score (40-30), and then he delved back down into the flow where it was just him and Tezuka, moving against each other but together, as if the net were artificially stretching apart the two halves of one being.

Time seemed to slow, for both their parts. Atobe could hear in the distance how fast and sharp each of their shots sounded, but it felt as if they both had all the time in the world to position themselves to return. There were no mistakes, no weaknesses, no flaws. They both played perfectly: the perfect match, the perfect set, the perfect game, the perfect point that dragged out, pulling out toward infinity, sinuous and elegant and _alive_.

Atobe would have to watch the video later to see how he’d actually won. All he’d known was that suddenly it was over (far too soon), and there was a hushed silence over the arena when his victory was announced, followed by thunderous applause. It was exactly the sort of thing he usually reveled in, but not this time, because he _wasn’t finished with Tezuka yet_ , damn it!

Across from him, Tezuka looked equally stunned, but then adjusted his glasses and shrugged, and somehow that human gesture brought Atobe crashing back down to reality. Whatever place he’d gone into through those last two games, it was suddenly gone from him again, unreachable and untenable.

Tezuka, however, approached the net, hand extended and smiling softly. Atobe knew all too well that Tezuka _was_ reachable and tenable, and it wasn’t a concession at all to have Tezuka instead.

They shook hands and laughed (even Tezuka: on _camera_!) and hugged, and Tezuka curled into him affectionately as they left the court, hands clasped high.

“My god,” Tezuka’s lips breathed against his ear just before the reporters rushed in on them, “you were absolutely…”

Atobe never got to hear what he ‘absolutely’ was, although his ego helpfully filled in a number of superlatives. Camera flashes went off wildly then, and microphones were shoved all around their faces, and Atobe couldn’t even remember half the answers he’d given (and was later relieved to note that he hadn’t said aloud any of the salacious thoughts he’d been having about what his and Tezuka’s bodies would be doing to each other in private as soon as they were able).

The final ceremonies were a blur, except that Tezuka had clung to his side the whole time, which seemed to befuddle a number of commentators. How did one cover it when one’s vanquished foe was also one’s proud celebratory spouse? It seemed that many had hoped that this would be more of a dramatic conflict than it actually was. Honestly, half the time it was as if the press believed that he and Tezuka were opponents who also happened to be fuckbuddies, rather than genuinely _in love_ with each other. Atobe paid those types no mind, as usual, and Tezuka’s snubs were excruciatingly icy as well.

At some point during the post-game interviews, Tezuka nuzzled his cheek, which drew its fair share of wolf whistles from the crowd, so Atobe decided to hell with it and gave Tezuka a quick smack on the lips for their audience, which drew out the wolf whistles even more.

Some cheeky reporter, at that point, asked Tezuka how he was going to congratulate Atobe on his victory, and Atobe almost, _almost_ thought Tezuka was going to reply with something obscene, before Tezuka turned to him and asked: “Dinner?”

“Two Michelin stars,” Atobe countered. “At least.”

Tezuka’s eyes narrowed. “One Michelin star, plus a spa afternoon.”

Atobe considered this proposal. “You have to join me in the hot tub.”

Tezuka sighed wearily. “Fine.”

Atobe grinned. “That’s entirely acceptable,” he agreed.

The press lapped it up.

Tezuka leaned in then and gave Atobe a soft peck on the lips in return. “Congratulations, my husband,” he rumbled in a very low voice.

And, okay, perhaps Atobe lapped it up, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Tezuka watched the water collect, bead, and then pass its friction point, winding its way down the contours of Atobe’s stomach muscles, racing around the sharp jut of Atobe’s hipbone, and heading straight for the mattress that Atobe lay supine upon.

Tezuka caught the droplet at the last minute with his tongue, followed the trail back up to its source, and sucked once firmly on the ice cube he’d placed in Atobe’s navel, warming it to cue the next drop to melt free.

Atobe merely groaned helplessly and squirmed to try to get Tezuka’s head lower, but Tezuka’s hands on Atobe’s thighs were implacable, holding Atobe firmly in place. This evening was an important mission to drag every bit of pleasure conceivable from Atobe’s body, and Tezuka wasn’t about to let anything – even Atobe himself – distract him from this crucial task.

The next drop fell, arcing higher this time, when a long shaky gasp lowered Atobe’s chest at the same time that he canted his hips up into the air in need. Tezuka’s tongue caught the melt-off between the lines of Atobe’s ribs and this time nipped at Atobe’s tanned skin, giving him slightly more contact: just enough to calm Atobe’s wild thrashing, while Tezuka trailed love bites all the way back down to Atobe’s navel.

The ice cube was nearly melted, but Tezuka had an entire bucketful that the champagne had come in. And, just in case he got bored of the ice, he could return to the peacock feather he’d used to start the evening off, or the wax from the dozen candles that encircled the bedroom, or the rose petals that dotted the bedspread that Tezuka had thus far been remarkably negligent in using to properly caress Atobe’s body.

Tezuka thought, somewhat rapturously, that he could do this all night.

Just as Tezuka began lapping up the pool of melted ice from Atobe’s bellybutton, though, the brash sound of a truly obnoxious ringtone broke through the strains of Mozart that Tezuka had selected for the evening.

Atobe groaned and tried to reach for his phone, only to be foiled by the padded handcuffs that still bound his wrists tightly to the headboard. “Would you mind…?” he asked apologetically.

Tezuka grunted and reluctantly got up to turn off Atobe’s phone, without even bothering to see who the nuisance was. Probably another congratulatory phone call from one of Atobe’s infinite friendly acquaintances. Any actual _friends_ of theirs knew well enough not to interrupt Atobe and Tezuka’s celebratory evening.

Tezuka shoved Atobe’s phone into Atobe’s sock drawer just in case and then turned back to the sensual feast that awaited him on the bed. Tezuka tried to think of anything more erotic than the sight of Atobe naked, aroused, bound, and stretched out fully in bed, solely Tezuka’s to satisfy for the evening; nothing really came close, except perhaps for the image of Atobe doing the same thing to _him_. Tezuka wetted his lips and found himself extremely motivated to snatch a Grand Slam title from Atobe in the very near future, in order to win himself that delectable reward.

Tezuka returned to his rightful place between Atobe’s spread thighs and took the time to settle himself comfortably, because he planned to remain here until the early hours of the morning. He gazed down upon Atobe splayed out before him and watched Atobe’s breath hitch and his cock twitch and his eyes flash furiously that Tezuka wasn’t touching him _right this second_.

Tezuka just smirked at him wickedly and picked up the red rose petal nearest to Atobe’s right cheek on the pillow. Tezuka held it to Atobe’s nose in offering and, after Atobe had inhaled its perfume, trailed it down the angel’s kiss to Atobe’s soft lips, then over the proud jut of Atobe’s chin, down the tender column of his throat to the hollow that was now marked by Tezuka’s first love bite of the evening. Tezuka’s pressed the softness of the petal down further, between Atobe’s pectorals to his abs, down through the swoop of Atobe’s navel and into the soft curls between Atobe’s legs.

Atobe tensed, clearly wondering whether Tezuka would touch him where he needed it most or not, and in truth Tezuka was debating the same thing. However, Tezuka thought that Atobe wasn’t in such great danger of orgasming just yet, so Tezuka granted Atobe’s unspoken request, and the petal stroked up the front of Atobe’s erection, around the sensitive crown once, and then back down the underside of his cock.

“You are…” Atobe said between ragged pants for breath, “ _such_ a bastard, Tezuka. God, I love you…”

A lesser man might have been distracted by such sweet confessions, but Tezuka had a very clear goal in mind. The rose petal was a bit worse for wear after its trip down Atobe’s body, so Tezuka picked up a fresh one, still soft and sweat-free, and pressed its virgin silk against the tight pucker of Atobe’s hole.

Atobe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I?” Tezuka retorted evilly and pushed inside.

Atobe’s scream of ecstasy would’ve woken the neighbors, but fortunately they didn’t have any immediately adjacent. Tezuka did have to reach out in sudden alarm to catch the base of Atobe’s cock, though, barely making it in time to prevent Atobe from spurting forth in climax.

For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, wide-eyed, blinking in disbelief. _That_ had certainly been a surprise kink that neither of them had known about until exactly this moment; although, in retrospect, Atobe had always had a thing about roses…

Then Atobe whimpered helplessly in Tezuka’s grasp, still penetrated on Tezuka’s fingers from behind, and looking so thoroughly debauched that Tezuka was afraid that _he_ might come untouched.

“P-Please…” Atobe pleaded, a delightfully rare occurrence, indeed. “Tezuka…”

Tezuka slid the rose petal back out of Atobe’s body and considered the wax next.

“ _Kunimitsu_!” Atobe hissed, turning Tezuka’s attention back to him sharply.

“Atobe?” he asked uncertainly. It was even rarer for Atobe to draw upon Tezuka’s given name like that.

“I swear to god, Tezuka, if you aren’t inside of me within the next minute, I will never forgive you,” Atobe said very seriously, indeed.

Tezuka smiled and nuzzled Atobe’s cheek, his lips finding the beauty mark under Atobe’s right eye and kissing it softly. “Far be it for me to deny my husband anything he wishes,” he agreed and reached for the lube instead.

Atobe melted at the words. Tezuka had nowhere near Atobe’s facility for pet names, but this was a special occasion, so Tezuka had made the best effort he could tonight. Even at Tezuka’s most meager attempts, Atobe’s eyes glazed over, such that Tezuka really needed to work on his recalcitrance and reward Atobe with actual words more often…or not. Perhaps it was the scarcity of sweetnesses upon Tezuka’s lips that drove Atobe so out of his mind.

Tezuka prepped himself quickly, taking Atobe’s one-minute warning under advisement, and pushed gently but firmly through the slightest resistance he encountered. He generally liked to prepare Atobe more carefully for himself, even though Atobe insisted he didn’t need it, if only because Tezuka was of the firm opinion that Atobe should never experience anything but complete pleasure at Tezuka’s touch, for the rest of his life.

Atobe let out an ecstatic wail when Tezuka finally pierced him fully, and his hips jerked up against Tezuka’s, urging on their lovemaking in the only way that he could while his hands still thrashed helplessly in the handcuffs.

Tezuka moved with him, taking Atobe in deep, long, hard strokes, claiming Atobe’s pleasure firmly and leaving his mark deep inside Atobe’s body.

Atobe began grunting carnally in time with Tezuka’s rhythmic thrusts, receiving Tezuka’s cock so perfectly that Tezuka had to wonder that this was the same cocky man who had defeated him on the courts earlier that day. But, oh, Atobe had always been such a paradox like this: strong and domineering, and yet equally eager and yielding to Tezuka’s desperate rutting.

Tezuka pounded Atobe harder than he should have, perhaps, but Atobe writhed and arched into it, clearly loving every moment of Tezuka completely losing control of himself inside Atobe’s body.

Tezuka climaxed sharply, well before he’d planned to, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pressed his forehead into the reassuring steadiness of Atobe’s shoulder. It felt as if he spilled everything he had into Atobe, in long sticky spurts, until there was nothing more to give. Panting as if they’d just finished another rematch, Tezuka sank into Atobe’s warmth, dimly (happily) noting that Atobe’s stomach was slick and wet with his own release.

“My god…” Atobe whispered, chest heaving just as hard as Tezuka’s was, hands clenching and unclenching around the cuffs that still bound him. “That was…”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tezuka agreed, and strangely enough it all felt like the opposite of an innuendo: something sexual used to allude to that perfect, innocent match they’d shared this afternoon.

With Atobe, obscenities had always been the only words sufficient to describe the intensity of the tennis.

***

Tezuka awoke, what the alarm clock informed him was only two hours later, to the sound of pounding on the door.

Under him, Atobe let out a gurgle of complaint.

Tezuka squeezed his eyes shut tight, then remembered that Atobe had just won the US Open, so Tezuka was still treating him, and reluctantly got out of bed to see what the emergency was.

One of the candles by the closet door was still flickering at the end of its wick, and Tezuka used the light to find his bathrobe and tie the sash tight about his waist.

The pounding grew louder as he found his footing after only one stumble out of the bedroom, and he ran across the living room to answer to the door.

“What is it?” he asked in wide-eyed alarm when he threw the door open.

Standing there, looking very irate to see him, was Echizen, with his goddamned tennis racket. “Where’s the Monkey King?” he demanded.

Tezuka blinked down at him in disbelief. His sleep-muddled (and Atobe-muddled) brain vaguely recalled that there had been an incident and Echizen was being weirder than usual and blah-blah-blah, _who cared?_ Except, apparently, Tezuka had to, because Echizen was now waking them up in the middle of the night.

“This had better be important,” Tezuka hissed in a dangerous enough voice that Echizen actually looked put out for a second.

Then Echizen just shrugged again. “It is. Tell Atobe to come out and play.”

Tezuka’s eye twitched. “Atobe is a little tied up right now,” he said possessively. “ _Literally_.”

That, of course, was an exaggeration, since Tezuka wasn’t so inconsiderate to leave Atobe in bondage overnight, but it made Tezuka’s point.

Echizen’s eyes finally widened in realization that maybe he really shouldn’t be there.

“Come back next week,” Tezuka informed him icily. “Or never. Will never work?” The match with Atobe had distracted Tezuka from thoughts of Echizen, and he’d been momentarily stunned to find Echizen on their doorstep in the middle of the night, but now Tezuka’s brain was starting to fire on all cylinders again, and what he felt was absolute fury that _anyone_ had dared to try to kiss _his husband_.

Echizen startled and took a step back. “Sorry,” he said somewhat sullenly, “I didn’t realize it was so late. I just thought—”

“No,” Tezuka said angrily, “you didn’t think. That’s the whole problem.” And it was a very good thing that a solid, warm hand staid his own hand at that point, or he probably would’ve lashed out.

Atobe, still looking bleary-eyed and thoroughly well-fucked (although now berobed), gave Tezuka an assessing look and then Echizen a cool one. His nostrils flared once, and then he met Echizen’s eyes dead-center: “Are you shitting me? It is two-forty-five in the goddamn morning!”

Atobe did have such a lovely way with words. In two sentences, he’d managed to disdainfully convey all of Tezuka’s thoughts _exactly_.

Echizen froze, ducked his head under the brim of his hat, and moved to run off.

Before he could, though, Atobe caught _him_ by the arm. Tezuka honestly had no idea how Atobe managed a reaction time that quickly in the middle of the night.

“Wait,” Atobe said wearily. “Where are you going?”

Echizen shrugged Atobe off, but aborted his flight. “Dunno. Street courts?”

Tezuka sighed. He really shouldn’t feel responsible, but Echizen had to have the unhealthiest habits of anyone he knew. And that was _before_ one counted all the soda. “Where is your team staying?” Tezuka said instead, because he was reasonably sure that was what Atobe was trying to get at.

Echizen shrugged again. “They’re not here.”

Atobe’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “Not here? As in, not in New York?”

“Nope,” Echizen agreed sullenly, looking like he was about to bolt again.

“Why on earth are you here without your team? Tezuka, why would—?”

Tezuka rested his hand at the small of Atobe’s back to calm him. He was starting to get a sense of what was going on, but he wanted to wait until he got Atobe alone to discuss it. “Where are _you_ staying, then?” Tezuka asked instead.

“Hotel.”

Tezuka looked at Atobe apologetically. Atobe looked back at Tezuka with one raised eyebrow. So Tezuka lifted one eyebrow, too. Atobe switched to the other. Tezuka realized that there were both trying to communicate telepathically, which was just silly.

“Will you be mad if…?” Tezuka began.

“Not if you aren’t…?” Atobe answered.

Echizen _did_ try to bolt again then, but Tezuka caught him by the back of his shirt.

“You’re staying with us,” Tezuka insisted, “until we get this sorted out.”

Echizen got a hopeful look his eyes for one second.

And then Atobe corrected sharply, “But _no rematch_!”

Echizen immediately slumped back into a surly slouch and muttered under his breath, but let himself be dragged inside. He looked around disinterestedly; Tezuka was sure he’d already seen the apartment on the occasion of some other US Open, so there was nothing much new.

“Guest bedroom,” Atobe pointed, while simultaneously locking their front door behind him. “Weight room.” He gestured down the hall. “I highly recommend the former, but as long as you don’t wake us, you’re welcome to the latter.”

Echizen gave Atobe a look like _he_ was the one being put-out, and headed straight for the weight room.

“Honestly,” Atobe said under his breath with a weary yawn as he and Tezuka headed back to their bedroom, “what is _wrong_ with that kid?”

But then Echizen paused, half-turned, and said, as close to politely as Tezuka had ever heard him, “Thanks. For, y’know…” Considering that adequate, apparently, he vanished into the weight room, shutting the door behind him.

“I don’t care anymore,” Tezuka said tiredly. “I’m going to sleep. At least he’s not running around town in the middle of the night, terrorizing random unexpecting tennis players to matches. We can figure it out in the morning when—”

“Shh.” Atobe brought a finger to Tezuka’s lips, and Tezuka felt his over-analytic impulses dissipate at the tenderness in his mate’s caress. “We’ll deal with it in the morning,” he promised. “Together.”

“Together,” Tezuka agreed, and the two of them collapsed back into bed and almost instant sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's intervention time...

Atobe awoke, for a rare treat, to find Tezuka not only still in bed, but apparently feeling quite frisky as well. He murmured contentedly when Tezuka nuzzled his hair, then nipped behind his ear, and began trailing kisses down his neck. Tezuka’s knee nudged apart Atobe’s thighs, and Atobe indulged him, even though he was still feeling a bit raw from the night before. However, a morning quickie with Tezuka was never to be taken for granted.

“My god, you’re so beautiful,” Tezuka whispered reverently against the hollow of Atobe’s throat.

Atobe squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out a languorous moan when Tezuka ground his hips down hard, causing their rising erections to rub against each other’s stomachs in the most delightful way.

And then, as the mother of all wet blankets, a sullen voice called from the living room, “I can _hear you_ , you know!”

Atobe and Tezuka both froze, in wide-eyed horror, and immediately went soft again. And then – because Atobe couldn’t help himself – he started snickering. Tezuka looked affronted for all of two seconds, and then he relaxed into a wry smile, too.

“Let me guess,” Atobe said in a low voice, to avoid being overheard from without, “you’ve been hiding in here all morning, to avoid having to deal with an awkward social situation on your own.”

“Even worse,” Tezuka winced. “I _forgot_ about the impending awkward social situation when I got up to make tea this morning. And there he was. Right there. Just staring at me, in the dark.”

Atobe started snickering again.

“I said I had to go to the store, but then he just came with me, without saying a word the whole time. So I went to the store at 5 in the morning. For no reason.”

“Oh, you poor baby…” Atobe put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

“I did get you more peanut oil, though,” Tezuka offered. “And some more back-up napkins. I suppose we can _try_ to use them before our flight tomorrow…”

“That sounds like an emergency shopping trip, indeed,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka groaned and buried his face in the crook of Atobe’s shoulder. “I’m no good at this. I was _never_ any good at this. Why am I doing this, again?”

“Because you’re a kind, decent, good man, who would never let down a friend in need, and that’s why I married you,” Atobe suggested.

Tezuka sighed. “Really?”

Atobe frowned. “No. Actually, I married you because you’re a smug, arrogant, brilliant, kinky bastard, who’s annoyingly perfect at everything, and you drive me absolutely out of my mind.”

Atobe felt the curve of Tezuka’s smile against his collarbone. “That sounds more like it,” he agreed.

In the outer room, Echizen began making deliberately loud gagging noises. Atobe realized belatedly that their voices had returned to normal volume for the end of that exchange.

“Let’s hide in this bed forever,” Tezuka suggested hopefully, squeezing Atobe close.

Atobe took one moment to savor Tezuka feeling clingy and then moved to get up. “Wakey-wakey, sunshine,” he teased. “A new day has dawned!”

Tezuka groaned and tried to bury his forehead in Atobe’s pillow.

***

Atobe, as part and parcel of dating Tezuka, had been inserted into quite a number of bizarre encounters over the years. This one, however, might have taken the cake.

Next to him on the sofa, Tezuka had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at Echizen in a way that Atobe hadn’t seen him do for a long time, since back when someone had had the macabre sense of humor to put him in charge of ensuring that first-years were trained in proper footwork back at Seigaku. Atobe had thought, even at the time, that Tezuka’s approach to being team captain was nothing short of adorable.

Echizen sulked on the sofa across from them, head retracted like a turtle’s into the collar of his jacket, bill of his cap pulled down, hands buried deep into his pockets, as if he were trying to vanish into his clothes. Not unexpectedly, he didn’t look like he’d slept a wink last night.

Neither of them, emotional geniuses that they were, said a damned word.

Atobe rolled his eyes heavenward and resigned himself to the fact that, once again, he was going to have to save the day.

“Last night,” Atobe began crisply, “was entirely unacceptable. I trust you see that now?”

Echizen grunted out something, which might have been a repeat of his excuse that he hadn’t realized how late the hour had become.

Even if that was the case, it was hardly sufficient. When Atobe had turned his phone back on that morning, he’d found that unsurprisingly Echizen was the one who had called and interrupted them the previous night. After Tezuka had shut off Atobe’s phone, Echizen had called three more times, left two demanding voicemail messages, and then texted an additional half-dozen or so times. Atobe really didn’t need a hormonal, emotional mess of a stalker at this stage in his life.

Echizen, as if realizing that that excuse wasn’t going to cut it this time, mumbled out, “Sorry. That won’t happen again.”

“It had better not,” Tezuka finally managed some actual words in this conversation.

Atobe slid his arm over the back of the sofa behind Tezuka. Of course, Tezuka’s back was so ramrod straight that he wasn’t even touching the sofa back in favor of bristling out all his quills like an agitated porcupine. Even Atobe hesitated to touch Tezuka when he was in _this_ state.

“You owe us an explanation,” Atobe said, “so that we can trust that you’ll keep your promise.”

Echizen looked down at his knee for a second, and then blurted out the longest string of words Atobe had ever heard out of him, something about how he’d been thinking about how the beat the Tannhäuser, and he’d been practicing low slices non-stop for the past two days, and he needed to try it out absolutely _right now_.

Tezuka looked about as unimpressed as Atobe felt at this explanation.

“First of all,” Atobe said wearily, “I used Tannhäuser for _four straight_ service games against you. I didn’t even try it against Tezuka. You’ve not going to be getting that serve out of me until at least after the break.”

Echizen looked sullen at this, but he accepted the basic tennis logic, which was why Atobe had led with that particular argument, even though – to any sane person – it was the most trivial point of the whole affair.

“Moving on,” Atobe continued, “let us discuss why you felt that overcoming a serve was important enough to attempt to assault me the evening before I played in the finals, then bombard my phone with persistent nonsense that I was obviously not inclined to reply to, and finally wake us both up in the middle of the night.”

Even Echizen looked sheepish at having his list of offenses laid out like that. “I _said_ I was sorry. And actually meant it.” A beat. “And I didn’t _assault_ you,” he insisted grumpily.

“Why would you even…?” Atobe let out a sigh of exasperation and pressed several frustrated fingers to his forehead. “You should know better than anyone that I’m very happily married.”

Tezuka finally sank back into the sofa from his aggressive stance and settled himself against the curve of Atobe’s arm, as if to make that point abundantly clear.

Echizen’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly on where Atobe’s hand now gently rested on Tezuka’s shoulder, before he looked away.

After a lengthy pause, it became clear that Echizen wasn’t going to say anything (or more likely, given his complete lack of self-awareness or EQ, he didn’t even know the answer to Atobe’s question himself). Atobe resigned himself to having to work through Echizen’s damned emotions for him before Tezuka softly, surprisingly kindly, spoke up beside him.

“That’s exactly why he did it,” Tezuka explained. “Because he knew it would get a rise out of you, and he wanted you angry enough that you’d play him again and damn the consequences. Am I right?”

Echizen mumbled something that might have been agreement.

Atobe debated saying something catty, like how surly and unresponsive might have been cute on a teenager, but Echizen really wasn’t going to be able to pull that act off through his 20s. However, that would be unproductive, and Atobe liked to think that he was mature enough to avoid such pettiness.

“Whatever _did_ happen to your team?” Atobe asked instead, because Echizen obviously still needed some form of adult supervision.

“Dunno,” Echizen shrugged. “Alexa has been gone for a while now because, y’know.”

“What happened to Emilio?” Atobe demanded. He had always been the sterner of Echizen’s coaches.

“I let him go. _He_ started getting too buddy-buddy with my dad.”

And that, Atobe knew, was a red flag. Atobe wasn’t half so well versed in the ins and outs of the Echizen household as Tezuka was, but even he knew that Echizen had a giant sore spot around his father, so much so that he rarely mentioned the man. The impression that Atobe got was that Echizen Nanjiroh had been the worst sort of sports-parent imaginable, having shoved Echizen completely into tennis as soon as he was able, and also not generally a very good role-model, given the constant rumors of philandering (and that one time he’d cornered Atobe at that exhibition match and waxed drunkenly for a full five minutes about how pretty Atobe was now that he was legal).

“Has your father been interfering with your career again?” Tezuka asked, and Atobe was glad, because Tezuka was better qualified to lead this particular conversation and Atobe was better qualified to observe.

Atobe had the stupid, giddy thought, _we’re such a good team_ , and his thumb rubbed a slow circle into Tezuka’s shoulder, before he forced himself back to the more important matter at hand.

“Of course,” Echizen said bluntly. “It’s not like he ever leaves me alone. It’s gotten even worse since—”

“Since?” Tezuka demanded.

Echizen looked away. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

Tezuka frowned.

Atobe chimed in, “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with that scandal?”

Echizen sulked further under his hat, and Tezuka turned to look at Atobe in surprise. “Scandal?”

“That was, what? Just over a year and a half now?” Atobe scrutinized Echizen carefully.

“Almost two years,” Echizen acknowledged miserably.

“I take it that the paparazzi miraculously got something right, then?” Atobe ventured.

Echizen just grunted, which was as close to an affirmation as they were likely to get.

Tezuka was still blinking at Atobe. “What’s this about a scandal?”

“The whole mess about Alexa and Echizen’s father? And their tawdry affair?”

Tezuka just blinked at him.

“Which, supposedly, was why Alexa left Echizen’s team? Because Echizen’s mother demanded it?”

Tezuka frowned. “How do you know this, and I didn’t?”

“ _I_ know it because it was all over the tabloids at the time. How _you_ missed it is beyond me. I mentioned it to you several times, back when it was news,” Atobe answered breezily.

Tezuka frowned. “Were these conversations buried inside larger conversations about other irrelevant celebrity gossip?”

“Highly likely,” Atobe conceded.

“Did I respond with anything other than ‘hmm’ throughout the duration of any of these conversations?”

“No, I don’t believe you did,” Atobe agreed.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Tezuka sighed.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Atobe concluded at the exact same moment, and then: “Sorry. I should have made more of a point of it.”

Tezuka shrugged. “It _is_ still irrelevant celebrity gossip…mostly.” He turned back to Echizen, who was watching the two of them with a distinct frown now. “So, basically, you’ve sacked your entire team due to your father’s interference now?”

“Something like that,” Echizen agreed.

“Where is your _father_ , then?” Atobe demanded.

Echizen shuddered. “I don’t even wanna know. As long as he’s not here.”

“No,” Atobe assured him, “he’ll not be welcome here…”

“Good.”

“What about your mother?”

“What about her?”

Atobe felt his patience close to snapping. “Is _she_ still around?”

“Not since…” Echizen trailed off in such sudden alarm that Atobe knew they’d hit upon the sticking point.

“Since…?” Atobe studied Echizen’s posture carefully, considered the odds, and came to the most logical conclusion. “Don’t tell me she finally actually divorced him?” he asked in honest surprise.

Echizen Rinko’s seemingly endless tolerance for punishment had always been baffling to him. To hear the press say it, incidents of infidelity were a regularly occurring pattern in their marriage. Atobe couldn’t imagine putting up with a relationship like that, but then everyone was different.

Echizen didn’t say anything but looked even sulkier, which was just as good as an admission.

“Well, wonders never cease…” Atobe commented.

“Is that what provoked all of this?” Tezuka demanded then with his usual bluntness.

Echizen glared and, for the first time in his life that Atobe had seen, got riled up about something other than tennis. “It’s none of your business, _captain_ ,” he injected just enough disdain into that last word to remind Tezuka that he hadn’t had that claim on Echizen in a very long time. “I actually am sorry that I disturbed you last night, but I don’t have to put up with any of this. It’s not like either of you know what it’s li—” He cut off abruptly, but he’d already given too much of himself away.

“What it’s like,” Atobe finished for him, because Tezuka didn’t seem to be reading Echizen’s train of thought at the moment. “And you resent that, don’t you? That Tezuka, who used to be so like you, can’t relate on this matter. That you’re alone right now, and you have no notion of how to be anything else, and no one understands because you’re too stubborn to _let_ them understand.”

Echizen, for the first time in his life, _gaped_ at Atobe.

Tezuka looked equally impressed, although he’d already known what Atobe’s insight really meant off the court, which Echizen would never have bothered to pay attention to.

“You’ve always made a deliberate point of keeping your father at a distance,” Atobe continued calmly, “of trying to prove you’re not like him. But you _are_ like him, more than you want to admit. Your love life is just as chaotic, and you have no model upon which to stabilize it. You had thought your career, at least, was safe, but now that’s imploding, and you don’t know how to stop it, and – more importantly – you secretly suspect that some part of you is destroying it on purpose. Does that about sum it up?”

Echizen frowned, nodded, and looked away.

Atobe rose from his seat and gave Tezuka a pointed look. “Would you like anything to drink?” he asked Echizen.

Echizen just shrugged.

Atobe retreated to the kitchen then, leaving Tezuka and Echizen alone. He recalled that Echizen was addicted to all sorts of foul sugary swill, which they usually did not keep about the house, but – wonder to behold – there was now a six-pack of soda in the refrigerator. Tezuka’s pointless morning shopping trip had apparently had some point, after all.

It only took a few seconds to grab a can, of course, but Atobe heard the first low mutter from the living room then, followed by several more. He waited a good five minutes, leaning his elbows forward on the kitchen island, until the mutters finally trickled off. Then he grabbed their drinks and returned promptly.

Echizen accepted the can without complaint, which was the most Atobe could have expected. Tezuka thanked Atobe with a blush when Atobe handed him a glass of water.

They all sat there in semi-awkward, semi-comfortable silence while they drank their respective drinks, and the morning sunlight slanted in the windows. It made Atobe itchy, but people like Tezuka and Echizen were at home in situations like this, so Atobe gave them their time. Indeed, Echizen looked more comfortable on the far sofa, not as curled into himself as he’d been at the beginning. Atobe caught Echizen sneaking him curious glances once or twice, which was perfectly lovely; it would just be Atobe’s luck if he’d turned Echizen’s harmless acting out into an _actual_ crush on him.

“When’s your next tournament?” Atobe finally asked.

“Nothing until Tokyo,” Echizen said. “Not after _someone_ ,” he glared Tezuka’s way, “eliminated the US for the Davis Cup.”

Tezuka just snorted.

“Yes,” Atobe agreed, “he is a grand bastard about that, isn’t he?”

“Hey!” Tezuka protested. “We didn’t even play you…this year.”

Atobe rolled his eyes. “In any case, Tezuka is due back in Germany for the semifinals next week. As you have no team, no staff, and your father is presumably hunting you down at this very moment to make more of a nuisance of himself, you should fly back with us for the interval.”

Echizen grunted. Wonderful, so they were back to that.

“You need to put your team back together,” Atobe insisted, “and you are obviously entirely incapable of performing this basic function on your own.”

Echizen re-grunted.

Atobe turned to face Tezuka. “Tezuka, back me up on this.”

Tezuka sighed. “You need a coach,” he said simply and then, with a wince like it was almost painful to admit this, “and probably some kind of emotional support. Maybe.”

Echizen just shrugged, which was enthusiastic agreement coming from him.

As Atobe had said: emotional geniuses, the both of them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka would make such a lousy therapist... :P

Echizen managed to stay conscious (and grumpy, even more so than usual) for nearly 48 hours straight before he crashed hard on the flight back to Europe. During that time, Tezuka did not manage to make love with his charming, handsome husband even _once_ , which was entirely unacceptable.

As Echizen’s epic snores managed to drown out even the noise of the jet engines, Tezuka turned to Atobe and said, “This is why I never wanted children.”

Atobe, who’d somehow been half drifting off himself, despite Echizen’s infernal racket, came to at that and snickered. “You’ll get no argument from me,” he agreed. “But we couldn’t just leave him on the doorstep like that, not after he followed you home.”

“He followed _me_ home?” Tezuka asked in disbelief. “He clearly asked for you!”

“Yes, but that’s only due to a long, complicated chain of events, all stemming back to the fact that he originally followed _you_ around like a lost duckling back at Seigaku,” Atobe explained, like he wasn’t completely full of himself. “You’re his unofficial tennis guardian. I just ended up adopting him when I married you. Really, you owe me one.”

Tezuka glared at Atobe very sternly, to let Atobe know that he was in no way, shape, or form buying that load of total nonsense. And also that Atobe had a very pretty mouth, and that very pretty mouth hadn’t been wrapped around Tezuka’s dick in far too long, and there was a private cabin to the rear of the Atobes’ jet, and…

Atobe cast Echizen a wary look, determined that he was still asleep, and then grabbed Tezuka’s wrist and pulled him back along into the rear cabin. Tezuka had always known they were in perfect accord.

Atobe’s mouth was, indeed, exactly as warm and wet and wonderful as Tezuka had remembered. And Tezuka could only infer, from the volume and enthusiasm of Atobe’s moans, that his own mouth was adequate in that regard, as well.

Tezuka felt in a much better mood afterward (unsurprisingly), with Atobe curled up beside him on one of the sofas that lined the cabin.

Atobe yawned and wrapped an arm around Tezuka’s waist and snuggled in close. “Are you ever going to tell me what all the secret ‘mutter-mutter’ discussions have been about?”

Tezuka pouted. That was just _unfair_. He didn’t particularly want to talk about this right now, but his brain was all addled with sex and hormones and Atobeness after having gone for far too long without, so that he’d hopelessly let his guard down and had no defenses but to cave in to Atobe’s curiosity.

“How much do you know about middle school?” Tezuka finally began wearily.

“I passed it with flying colors,” Atobe retorted, and Tezuka was quite satisfied with the yelp Atobe emitted when Tezuka jabbed him in the ribs. Really, Atobe deserved it after a smart-ass response like that.

“I mean, about Echizen in middle school,” Tezuka clarified.

“He was an obnoxious brat who liked to mouth off and was infuriatingly good at tennis,” Atobe answered more seriously. “He went back and forth between the US and Japan a lot, too.”

Tezuka nuzzled Atobe’s cheek affectionately. Atobe really was brilliant and observant and smelled really, _really_ nice.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Atobe held him off. “I need to know what you’ve gotten me into.”

“What _I’ve_ gotten _you_ into?” Tezuka repeated in disbelief. “How does this keep being my fault?”

“Because he’s _your_ crazy protégé,” Atobe insisted.

“I haven’t seen him any more regularly than you have in almost ten years,” Tezuka retorted.

“Nonetheless,” Atobe insisted, “you’re his _role model_.” He sing-songed that last part.

Tezuka let out a groan and banged his head back against the sofa cushion several times, which wasn’t a particularly effective object to bang one’s head against in frustration. Atobe, as if sympathizing with Tezuka’s predicament, gave him an affectionate peck on the corner of his lips.

“I honestly thought he’d moved on,” Tezuka finally sighed. “He seemed well enough when I first left for Germany.”

“Obsessions with various players, galore,” Atobe agreed, and then more softly, perceptively. “What happened back at Seigaku?”

“I got most of this from some combination of Fuji, Kikumaru, and Inui, mind you,” Tezuka listed as a caveat.

Atobe just nodded.

“Echizen came with his father to Japan at the start of Echizen’s freshman year, to stay with Echizen’s father’s niece,” Tezuka began.

Atobe just blinked at him.

“ _Without_ Echizen’s mother,” Tezuka clarified.

“Ah,” Atobe agreed. “So, the household was in trouble even then.”

“Indeed. Echizen was…even worse than he is right now, back then. He had an enormous chip on his shoulder, closed himself off from everybody, that sort of thing.”

“And, as his captain, you naturally brought him out into the world, like a beautiful social butterfly,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka snorted. “Don’t ever say anything like that ever again, or I may have to divorce you,” he shot back.

Atobe just smirked at him contently. His mouth probably still tasted like Tezuka’s come, and… Atobe snapped his fingers abruptly, snapping Tezuka back to the matter at hand, as well.

“Momoshiro and Kikumaru were mostly responsible for the ‘beautiful social butterfly’ part,” Tezuka explained. “And, by ‘social’, I mean ‘able to spend time in other people’s general vicinity.’ I get the feeling he’d never had many friends before. His father kept him singularly obsessed with tennis. And his brother…”

“Yes,” Atobe frowned, “where _is_ Ryoga? I’ve neither seen nor heard from him in years.”

Tezuka snorted. “He’s probably got some scam going somewhere. He’s never exactly been the steady sort. Actually, neither has Echizen’s father. Echizen, ironically, is the mature, _stable_ one in that family.”

“The horror,” Atobe agreed. “Should we attempt to contact Ryoga? Where does he even stand in all this?”

Tezuka just shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. I don’t think he’s exactly on their father’s side. But I infer from a number of hints that he’s a bastard from one of Echizen’s father’s _previous_ affairs, and the reason he’s been jerked in and out of the family so often is that Nanjiroh brings Ryoga in whenever Rinko dumps him, and then Rinko kicks Ryoga back out whenever she takes Nanjiroh back.”

“How delightful,” Atobe said with a frown.

“One can hardly blame him for turning out a bit flaky,” Tezuka agreed. “I think Ryoga was the closest thing Echizen had to a friend before Seigaku. At the very least, Seigaku was the first time Echizen started to escape his father’s constant influence.”

“He was…more balanced back then, when you dumped him in my lap. Still obsessive about the tennis rivalries, mind you, but then who isn’t?”

Tezuka smirked a little to himself, because Atobe’s notion of normal really was amusing, even if Tezuka couldn’t help but agree with it.

“So, what happened?” Atobe asked.

Tezuka sighed. “Echizen’s return to America coincided with Rinko finally joining them in Japan.”

“She took Nanjiroh back.”

“That’s what I assume,” Tezuka agreed. “Setting the whole cycle over anew. Apparently, now we’re back in the ‘messy break-up’ phase again.”

Atobe rubbed his temple with one hand. “If she’s finally divorced him…”

Tezuka paused for one moment, made sure he could still hear Echizen’s snores in the other room, before continuing, “If it sticks this time,” he conceded. “I…really don’t understand Echizen’s parents. But it seems to me that he’s happiest when they’re apart.”

“At least things are somewhat settled in that state,” Atobe decided. “There’s no constant wait for them to explode again.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka nodded, because that might explain it. “So, what do we do about it?”

“You, my beauty,” Atobe teased, “are going to have to actually talk to that dysfunctional disciple of yours.”

Tezuka groaned. He’d been afraid of that. “What do I say?”

“Well,” Atobe considered, “you could start by telling him not to let his guard down, and then make some weird metaphors regarding pillars, and—eek!”

Tezuka had absolutely zero choice but to tickle Atobe into submission after _that_. No choice whatsoever.

***

Unfortunately, Atobe had business to attend to after they landed. (And, by ‘business’, Tezuka meant that Atobe’s father’s wealth manager had all but dragged him kicking and screaming into a limo from the airport with the ominous demand that “some papers need signing.” Atobe had whimpered pathetically in Tezuka’s direction and gone.) This, of course, all meant that Tezuka had Echizen on his own.

They took the bus back to Tezuka and Atobe’s penthouse, and then Tezuka showed Echizen the vacant suite on the floor below, which took all of ten seconds (“key code, door, living room, kitchen, bathroom, fitness room’s upstairs in our place”).

So now the two of them had absolutely nothing practical to do (Echizen’s ‘unpacking’ consisted of dumping his tennis bag in the corner and his duffel in the bedroom), and Tezuka still had no idea what to say.

“I’m going running,” he announced instead.

Echizen smirked. “Are you trying to order me to run laps?” he teased.

“Probably,” Tezuka agreed wearily.

They ran ten laps around the tennis club before Tezuka finally came up with something to say.

“You do need a team,” he finally decided.

“Duh,” Echizen agreed. He really didn’t make helping him any easier, did he?

“One that is completely dissociated from your father, ideally.”

“Yup,” Echizen agreed.

“The first step, then, would be to identify people whom you trust implicitly, who are your own allies separate from your father, and who are incorruptible. Do you have any people like that?”

Echizen glared at Tezuka pointedly.

“Other than me. And Atobe,” Tezuka hastily added. “You can’t have Atobe; he’s mine.”

Echizen snorted.

“What about Momoshiro?” Tezuka finally ventured.

“What about him?” Echizen said huffily, which seemed peculiar. After all, Echizen and Momoshiro were the closest of friends from what Tezuka knew.

“He seems trustworthy. Loyal,” Tezuka ventured.

“He’s also too busy assistant-coaching Seigaku to even come to see my matches,” Echizen retorted. “Plus, he’s _engaged_.” That last one sounded quite snide.

This just showed all too well what Tezuka knew about Echizen’s friendships. It really had been a long time. Why Atobe thought Tezuka was qualified for this was completely beyond him.

“Right,” Tezuka just said instead, and picked up the pace.

Echizen seemed happier with that anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, this is my personal theory about why Echizen's home life seems so _weird_ in the original PoT series. Why on earth _are_ they suddenly in Japan, staying with Echizen's cousin? And why does Echizen's mother not show up once in any of the at-home scenes? Until suddenly she's there in the final arc, the day before Echizen goes back to the US! (I had honestly assumed she'd died or something before that.)
> 
> Ryoga's story is even weirder, but I had written him off as non-canon, until _he_ suddenly showed up in NPoT, too. Which then means that all the weird stuff about Nanjiroh giving Ryoga up to his aunt, and then Ryoga as a teenager ending up as a con-artist aboard a cruise ship is all real, which is...baffling. o.O Mysteries... Mysteries, I say! :P


	8. Chapter 8

Atobe loved Tezuka with all his heart and soul, but there were a few (entirely insignificant) things that Atobe was honestly better off handling alone. Anything involving delicate emotional negotiations fell squarely into this category.

So, while Tezuka and Echizen awkwardly bonded anew (undoubtedly doing something at least tangentially related to tennis), Atobe took it upon himself to make a few discreet phone calls. Unfortunately, where certain individuals were concerned, ‘discreet’ involved quite a lot of yelling.

“You? What do you want, you jerk?” Momoshiro asked too loudly into the phone. “And you are _not_ invited to my wedding!”

Fortunately, Atobe had placed the phone far away from his ear in anticipation of just such an occurrence. Atobe knew the two of them had gotten off to a rocky start, but – honestly – that had been _years_ ago, and Atobe had mostly just been being a jerk because he was bored and hadn’t played Tezuka yet. “I have absolutely zero interest in your impending nuptials,” he said dryly, “other than how it relates to a certain personal matter of mine.”

“Personal matter? What could I possibly have to do with your personal matters?”

“I’m calling regarding Echizen.”

“Echizen?” Momoshiro sounded momentarily stumped at this.

“Yes, Echizen,” Atobe repeated. “Scrawny, rude, easily bribed by grape soda, wears a bill cap at all times, and is annoyingly persistent at tennis. Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah, I saw you in the semifinals of the US Open. What’s up with Echizen, anyway?” Momoshiro sounded mildly concerned now.

Atobe summarized their current predicament and the events leading up to it.

“He actually hit on you?” Momoshiro asked afterward. “He really must be out of it.”

Atobe gritted his teeth and decided he was mature enough to take that in stride. Besides, everyone knew he was gorgeous; who _wouldn’t_ want to hit on him? Only exceptionally biased weirdos like Momoshiro, obviously. “Have the two of you been in contact recently?” Atobe asked instead.

Momoshiro sighed at that. “Not really. I invited him to my wedding. It’s scheduled right before the Japan Open, since that makes the travel easier for a number of people. But he still hasn’t RSVPed.”

“Not that one would necessarily expect him to.”

“Yeah, not really. Tezuka did, by the way. He said no. You know what that’s all about?”

Atobe sighed. “Tezuka does not step foot in Japan these days. It’s a family thing. Don’t take it personally. And also: if you invited Tezuka, then _of course_ you invited me, by proxy.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Momoshiro, as usual, seemed to have more bark than bite. He seemed to enjoy chewing Atobe out far more than he actually disliked Atobe, at the very least. “Actually, I think Echizen might be upset with me.”

“Upset how?”

“Well, he was upset when you and Tezuka got married. And when Kawamura did. And then Oni. And now me. You know those single friends who start to freak out when everyone around them starts getting married?”

Atobe considered that carefully because, if nothing else, it might explain why he and Tezuka had been the target of Echizen’s subconscious aggressions. Either that, or Echizen genuinely considered them friends and wanted help. With Echizen, heaven only knew. “I require your assistance,” Atobe finally said, because it was clear Momoshiro had a closer perspective on the issue than he or Tezuka did.

“No way,” Momoshiro said. “The third-years just retired. I have to help our new captain and vice-captain get on their feet. Ryuzaki says they’re even more hopeless than Kaidoh and I were. She’s threatening to retire.”

Atobe snorted. “ _That’ll_ be the day. No, the assistance I require is merely in the form of advice. A brief conversation should suffice.”

“Okay,” Momoshiro agreed, “shoot.”

“I need to build a team, with Echizen at its center. As a former vice-captain and current assistant-coach, and as the closest thing Echizen has ever approached to having a best friend, I believe you are uniquely qualified.”

“Wow, you really haven’t gotten any less pompous since high-school, have you?” Momoshiro snickered.

Atobe rolled his eyes. “Names. Give me names.”

With a laugh, Momoshiro did so.

***

The problem with doing anything behind Tezuka’s back was that Tezuka was exceptionally intelligent and always suspected something was afoot.

As Atobe strode across the courts at their club, Tezuka paused before his next serve, giving Atobe a very knowing look. Atobe just blew him a kiss and walked on by. Tezuka probably would have pursued it, but he was currently rallying with Echizen (just as Atobe had predicted), and Echizen acted like his usual demanding self. Tezuka turned back to their practice, and Atobe was off the hook, mostly. For now.

Except, of course, for the catch in the shape of Coach Werner. “Where have you been all morning?” he demanded. “Kunimitsu got here hours ago.”

“Important business matter,” Atobe insisted and let himself be dragged onto the next court over, where Monika looked to be practicing her serve against Franziska.

“Your _business_ ,” Coach Werner reminded him, “is tennis. And I don’t know what the hell has become of your net game, but we’re going to fix it right now.”

Atobe scowled. He was reasonably sure _Tezuka_ didn’t get a lecture after winning his first Grand Slam. But, then, Coach Werner did like to play favorites. The only problem was that Atobe didn’t know which one of them _was_ his favorite: Tezuka because he never got chastised, or Atobe because he always got pushed to exceed his previous limits.

“Serve and volley,” Coach Werner instructed, turning to encompass Monika and Franziska in his pronouncements as well. “You two, get on the same side of the court and tag-team him.” And that was just _unfair_ ; they’d just barely lost in doubles at the WTA Finals last season. “If he lets the ball bounce on his side of the court,” he pointed an accusing finger Atobe’s way, “that counts as your point. For each game you two can take, that’s an extra five laps for Atobe and an extra get-out-drills-free card for the both of you. Enjoy!”

A predatory look gleamed in Monika’s and Franziska’s eyes.

Atobe decided that he absolutely hated the man, who now stood off to the side looking as judgmental as possible. Just to be a jerk, no doubt…except, of course, for the fact that Atobe always performed best under pressure. _One day_ , he’d finally figure out which was Coach Werner’s real motivation.

Franziska served then, and a long, vicious back-and-forth commenced, with occasional complaints from the sideline on whether Atobe had suddenly grown two left feet. Atobe just ignored it, because Monika was far too quick at the net for him to focus on anything else.

The rest of the afternoon whiled away like that, with Atobe’s lap-count occasionally rising, but for the most part Atobe held his own. By the time they called break, Atobe had eked by with only 25 additional laps. Monika looked very smug about that, and Franziska looked like she was trying not to laugh; Atobe really hoped he got to practice smashes against them both independently in the very near future.

Tezuka and Echizen had vanished by the time Atobe finished his additional laps, but he had a text from Tezuka:

> C Werner said you’d be late. We took care of dinner. See you back home.

Well. A free pass on cooking tonight, and (yet another) evening by Tezuka’s side? Atobe could hardly complain about that.

***

Atobe arrived back home, to find that dinner consisted of bountiful quantities of mixed salad, plus some grilled fish. Tezuka’s efforts at cooking were always cute, although this was one of his better outings. Atobe could only assume that Echizen was equally unskilled in that arena. 

Atobe thanked them both anyway, after accepting a warm, welcoming kiss from Tezuka that made his toes curl. Tezuka _was_ feeling particularly proprietary these days, which Atobe could hardly object to, given that he got to enjoy the benefits. Echizen merely made an annoyed grunting noise at their passionate embrace, and reached for the salad bowl.

They ate mostly silently, with occasional conversations around the different training exercises they’d had to endure. Getting much of anything out of Echizen and Tezuka was an adventure, of course, so Atobe spent much of meal kvetching about Franziska and Monika and their ruthless efficiency at crushing his soul in exchange for free passes from Coach Werner.

Echizen looked amused and cracked jokes at Atobe’s expense about being beaten by two girls (although Atobe would have _loved_ to watch _Echizen’s_ despair at being trapped between Scylla and Charybdis, in revenge). Tezuka looked mildly sympathetic, but equally amused.

They all settled onto one sofa in the entertainment room after dinner, because they needed to digest their proteins before their evening run. Atobe grabbed the remote and flopped down onto the sofa beside Tezuka, his legs feeling like jelly after the footwork he’d been doing all afternoon. Echizen sat on Tezuka’s other side, curled up against the armrest, deliberately not looking at them while he nursed his latest soda.

It was an odd mixture: Echizen looked like he wanted to be absolutely anywhere else just then, but he wasn’t leaving to go downstairs to his private apartment. Atobe was too tired to figure out Echizen’s emotions just then (and Echizen looked like he felt the same way), so Atobe just ignored him and began flipping through their video library.

“I trust we can all agree on tennis as a genre?” he teased.

Echizen snorted into his drink.

“I would assume so,” Tezuka agreed, giving Atobe the barest quirk of a smile.

“Feel free to holler out suggestions, as you see them,” Atobe offered and began scrolling down the very long list.

Tezuka and Echizen, as one might expect, did not exactly holler at anything. Atobe got several grunts, which were then vetoed by someone else insisting they’d rewatched the match too recently. Atobe eventually filtered the list to matches played before they were born, to avoid too many additional vetoes, and _everyone_ grunted in unison at the Men’s 1980 Wimbledon Finals.

“Borg and McEnroe win,” Atobe announced, “not that that’s at all surprising. Start with the fourth set?” After all, they didn’t have _all night_.

No one disagreed.

He pressed play.

Less than ten minutes in, Tezuka started feeling cuddly, the way he often did when he watched really good tennis. Atobe had long since learned to embrace, rather than question, Tezuka’s intriguing variety of turn-ons, and so he inched several inches closer to Tezuka on the sofa and slung his arm over the back, just behind Tezuka’s shoulders.

If Echizen noticed, he didn’t say a word. In fact, he seemed far too riveted by the match on-screen to care in the slightest what they were doing.

Seemingly emboldened by this, Tezuka reached over and caught Atobe’s free hand in his, his fingers fitting into the slots between Atobe’s knuckles from behind.

Atobe lifted their joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Tezuka’s knuckles. Tezuka’s eyes never drifted from the match on-screen, but his thumb began rubbing slow circles into the back of Atobe’s hand.

Echizen, meanwhile, was still intent upon the match, sitting at the edge of his seat now.

In a way, it was more exciting like this, fooling around while Echizen was so oblivious. Atobe made a move to slide his arm down the back of the sofa, so that he was encircling Tezuka’s shoulders.

Tezuka gave him a wry look in response but didn’t object. Instead, slowly, carefully, he leaned in and gave Atobe the gentlest of kisses upon the lips.

Atobe probably would have tried his luck further at that point, but they’d just reached the tie-break, and even though he’d watched it a dozen times before, there was no way he was missing a second.

The three of them watched in rapt attention as the tie-break when on and on, and on and on and on.

“Reminds me of another annoyingly stubborn tie-break,” Echizen said the first thing since the match started, finally glanced over their way, and rolled his eyes. “Yeesh. Don’t you two ever let up?”

“Why,” Tezuka wondered with the slightest of frowns, “would I ever want to let up?”

Echizen gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, so Atobe beaned Echizen with his pillow. Echizen’s eyes widened in incredulous offense for a minute, and then _he_ grabbed a pillow and flung it full out at Atobe.

“Hey!” Tezuka complained, since we was stuck in the middle and inevitably got accidentally hit on every pass. “If you two don’t sto—”

But Atobe had grabbed the throw-blanket by then, and threw it over Tezuka’s head. Echizen – seemingly in agreement, and also in something like awe at being able to roughhouse with his stoic former team-captain – grabbed the other end, and together the two of them managed to wrestle Tezuka into submission, until Tezuka started _kicking_ with those damnably long legs of his.

Atobe wasn’t sure how, but after that the tables somehow turned, and _he_ was being tag-teamed, while someone threw the blanket over his head, and someone else whapped him repeatedly over the head with the pillow (okay, so the compulsive pillow-bandit was obviously Echizen; all was anonymous in pillow fights, however).

The three of them finally ended up on the floor in a kicking, laughing, tangled mess, only for Tezuka to finally point out that they’d missed the end of the tie-break. Such sacrilege!

Atobe finally hit pause and backed it up to where they’d last remembered (8-all), and they sheepishly put the sofa back together, all while trying not to look at each other, because every time they _did_ , it started the giggle-loop back up again.

“Are we all good?” Atobe finally asked, when they’d all retaken some form of decorum once more.

“Yup,” Echizen agreed.

“Ready,” Tezuka agreed.

Atobe resumed play and cuddled back up beside Tezuka, resting his head on Tezuka’s shoulder. Tezuka casually draped one arm around him.

A beat, and then Echizen cautiously inched over too and leaned his cheek on Tezuka’s _other_ shoulder.

Tezuka tensed for one moment, but Atobe squeezed his hand, and Tezuka relaxed.

After a minute or so, Atobe finally saw Echizen relax, too. It was, Atobe realized, the first time he’d seen Echizen do so, since this whole debacle had begun.

Satisfied that his work for today, at least, was done, Atobe turned back to the breathtaking match before him, feeling the excitement build up in him further and further as the score inched up.

The anti-climactic end to the fourth set’s tie-break was heartbreak and elation, all at once, as always, but then the _fifth_ set began, and they all managed to be snuggled comfortably and gripped at the edge of their seats the whole time.

It really was one of Atobe’s favorite classic matches.

Echizen finally broke away from their little group just before the end, so that he could ostensibly pretend that he’d never sought out the moment of companionship in the first place.

When Borg’s victory was finally announced and the crowd went wild, Atobe separated himself from Tezuka with a yawn and a stretch.

“How many kilometers did you get tonight?” Tezuka asked.

“Ten,” Atobe answered. “You?”

“The same.”

“How about you?” Atobe looked at Echizen. “You up for a 10K before dusk?”

“…Sure,” Echizen agreed sullenly, but it was the ‘I’m trying to act like a bad-ass’ sullen voice and not the ‘There’s something genuinely wrong with me’ voice.

Atobe took that as his own personal victory.

They all diverged to change at that point and met again outside the front door to the building.

Atobe let Tezuka set the pace, since he had the longest legs and thus would give them all the most grueling work-out. Atobe had never been particularly talkative on runs, nor had Tezuka, and neither – unsurprisingly – was Echizen. All of them seemed far too intent on showing each other up, to do anything else.

Tezuka looped them around his second-favorite 10K circuit (his favorite put the sun in their eyes too much in the summer evenings, so he used that route exclusively in the mornings), and they made entirely respectable time, until Atobe’s legs started feeling like jelly again at about 8K. However, Atobe was of the firm belief that he could handle _any_ pace for only 2K, so he soldiered his way through, gasping with relief when he crossed the finish line in the park.

“Looks like the monkey’s getting clunky in his dotage,” Echizen teased.

Atobe snapped the bill of Echizen’s cap down over his eyes and stole Echizen’s place at the drinking fountain.

They walked back home after that, in the sunset, and it would have been touching or inspirational or something, if only Atobe hadn’t been sweating like a pig the whole time. ( _Pigs_ , Atobe's inner-Tezuka-voice informed him, _don’t sweat._ So Atobe told that voice to fuck off, too, for good measure.)

“We’ll see you at practice tomorrow?” Tezuka suggested hesitantly when the elevator stopped at Echizen’s floor.

Echizen got off, shrugged, and said, “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow.” Someone else might have thanked them, or commented on how it had been a fun day, but – oh no – not Echizen.

Tezuka just snorted when the elevator doors closed again and took the two of them up the final floor to the penthouse. “Is he…better?” he ventured uncertainly.

“Better,” Atobe conceded, trying his best not to drip on the elevator floor or – after the elevator doors opened – the entryway into their penthouse. “And hopefully he’ll stay on that track, just so long as we find stable, sane people to surround him with, and keep all the disruptive ones away from him.”

“And I suppose that’s what you sneaked off to work on all morning?” Tezuka inquired suspiciously, stowing their tennis bags in the hall closet.

“Why, Tezuka,” Atobe teased, grabbing an apple from the bowl in their kitchen, “I had important business matters to attend to, after we’d been abroad for so long. I cannot imagine whence you derive such wild conspiracy theories.”

“Hmm…” Tezuka said.

“By the way, the following people all say ‘hi’ and wish you well: Momoshiro, Kaidoh, Inui, Fuji, Yukimura, Shiraishi, Sanada, Tokugawa, Irie, Nioh, Yanagi, Toyama, Oishi, and Sengoku. I said that you said ‘hi’ and wished them well in return.”

Tezuka blinked at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Of _course_ , I’m kidding,” Atobe assured him. “Sanada said nothing of the sort. He merely grumbled cantankerously and told us not to slack off. But the well-wishing was implied.”

Tezuka merely snorted. “I’m taking a shower. Right now. You could join me, if you wanted…”

Atobe froze, and put down the apple. He’d long ago learned that, for whatever reason, shared showers were coded Tezuka-speak for “I really want to bottom tonight.”

“Yes,” Atobe agreed huskily, still sticky and disgusting and flushed from their run, “let’s take a shower.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka gets marginally better at dealing with Echizen...

Like most of Atobe’s hair-brained schemes, Tezuka had been skeptical at first of the whole ‘let’s adopt Echizen’ plan, but as the plan wore on, he found out – much to his surprise – that he was enjoying himself.

It wasn’t just that Echizen was a tolerable training partner. Or that it was sometimes satisfying to have someone to help him gang up on Atobe. The other members of their club also filled those roles, to greater or lesser degrees. It was something more along the lines of _history_. Echizen had known Tezuka for such a long time, almost as long as Atobe.

Something about the situation made Tezuka feel nostalgic for those days back at Seigaku. Further reminders of playing on a team came in the form of the Davis Cup semifinals, which were conveniently being held in Munich this year. Even members of their tennis club that weren’t involved (including Atobe and Echizen) were starting to get hyped up.

It wasn’t the same as Seigaku, of course, but there was a familiarity there.

The three of them (and several other members of their club, that Atobe had an unfortunate, persistent habit of inviting over) watched matches of the Australian players, and picked apart weaknesses and strategies. Tezuka was perfectly capable of doing this on his own, of course, but it was not objectionable to do such things as a team, at times. If only because Echizen seemed to be mellowing with each day that passed.

Atobe had remained secretive about his various efforts on Echizen’s behalf, sneaking off not infrequently after receiving covert texts and calls.

“Don’t you ever worry about that?” Echizen asked one day, when Atobe got a text, tried to hide it, and then made a feeble excuse several minutes later, obviously to respond.

“About what?” Tezuka asked, glancing away from the screen playing Jacobs’ last match at Roland Garros this season.

“Your husband getting mysterious texts from people you don’t know.”

Tezuka snorted and resumed watching. “If I was bothered by that, I wouldn’t have dated Atobe in the first place. He has a particularly, er, _vibrant_ social life.”

“But how do you know he’s not cheating on you?” Echizen said it in a way that wasn’t snide or mocking. More…genuinely baffled at Tezuka’s lack of concern.

Tezuka blinked a couple of times. “Atobe would never cheat on me. Where would you get that weird idea?”

Echizen didn’t say anything to that, but even Tezuka could figure out the answer.

***

The crowds were more ebullient at the semifinals than usual this year. Doubtlessly because Atobe and the rest of their club were in the front rows. Atobe even managed to get a chant going at one point. Atobe, no doubt, loved the whole thing.

Tezuka, for the most part, chose to ignore the cheering. (Although, okay yes, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that he’d be taking the prettiest cheerleader of them all to bed that night. Weird primal instincts. Huh.) However, the other members of the German team seemed to be enjoying all the extra attention, so Tezuka really couldn’t complain. Just as long as they didn’t get too cocky and let their guards down…

Tezuka faced Jacobs in the first rubber, which was clearly a deal-breaker for Germany. If Tezuka lost, their chances were non-existent.

“Try not to blow it,” Echizen commented before downing a can of diabetes-flavored-heart-failure.

That was at least the third Tezuka had seen him drink this morning alone. Tezuka would never have believed that he’d sympathize with his mother after all these years, but the need to lecture on Echizen’s soda habit was so very great…

Atobe flicked the base of the can, nearly knocking it out of Echizen’s hand. Echizen caught it in the nick of time and gave Atobe a murderous glare. Atobe gave him a self-satisfied smirk in response, before turning to Tezuka.

“Be brilliant, darling,” he said and blew Tezuka a kiss.

Off to their side, some of the photographers’ cameras flashed, the way they tended to whenever Atobe did anything flamboyant.

Tezuka half smiled and shook his head as he approached his bench. It was ridiculous, but even after all these years, a few words from Atobe could still send his heart racing.

Jacobs won the first serve, so Tezuka took his spot near the baseline and waited. Jacobs liked to start out fast, killing his opponents with the accelerated pace at the beginnings of his matches. Given that they’d only be playing the one set, Tezuka fully anticipated that Jacobs would try to extend his natural strategy to its fullest.

He caught the return and, sure enough, they were almost immediately engaged in a lightning-quick rally. Tezuka dragged the game out, forcing the pace to slow. It was warm out, but not hot, the humidity broken after yesterday’s rain, and the sky still cloudy. There was little danger of Tezuka’s stamina wearing thin, then, especially with only the one set.

Jacobs eventually kept his serve, but not on his own terms. Tezuka couldn’t read his opponents the same way Atobe could, and Jacobs had an excellent poker face, but Tezuka concluded that Jacobs must be frustrated at this turn of events.

That was why it was so satisfying when _Tezuka_ blew past Jacobs in _his_ service game, striking hard and fast, executing Jacobs’ own failed plan with textbook perfection. Tezuka thought Jacobs seemed a little stiffer than usual when they switched courts, but that might have been his imagination. So he hazarded a glimpse into the stands and saw that Atobe had one hand over his mouth, trying very hard no to laugh openly, while Echizen looked at him mildly bemused. Ah. Tezuka might not have been able to read people, but he could read _Atobe_. Apparently Tezuka’s surmise was accurate: he was severely rattling Jacobs psychologically.

Jacobs’ form was just slightly off in his second service game, and Tezuka closed in for the kill. Everything that came Tezuka’s way was close but not _quite_ sharp enough. Jacobs’ play was off, and as Tezuka raked up points against him, Jacobs faltered even more. Tezuka got the game up to deuce, and the two of them toyed with the advantage for a bit, but then Tezuka caught Jacobs going the other way and hit a sharp shot to the far corner, stealing the game. A lost service game was effectively demoralizing this early on, Tezuka well knew.

It went on in that fashion. Jacobs really did make several clever attempts to steal one of Tezuka’s service games back – particularly his third – but Tezuka wasn’t having any of that today and didn’t allow even the glimmer of an opening.

There was some impressive swearing and theatrics from Jacobs when he finally lost the rubber, 2-6, but he finally accepted Tezuka’s hand with a weary “good game.” Tezuka nodded. This was exactly as it should be.

He made his way quickly inside, because he wanted to cool down and shower before Röhler’s rubber against Forster. That one would be tight and would likely determine whether Germany advanced to the finals.

Tezuka was met in the warm-up area by his currently slightly-extended family. “Atobe,” Tezuka said, offering and receiving a quick peck on the cheek before he began his post-match stretches.

“That went well,” Atobe said, obligingly pushing down and forward on Tezuka’s back as Tezuka reached for his toes.

“Hmm,” Tezuka agreed.

“Röhler seems hyped up. He and Walter have a decent rally going.” Atobe must have been watching the practice court across the gym. Tezuka could hear the impact of the ball on the court, sharp and precise, although he didn’t bother to look.

“Hmm,” Tezuka repeated and paused in his stretches to wipe the sweat off his forehead again and take another sip from his water bottle. “I’m empty,” he frowned down at it when he was done. “Would you mind…?”

“Not in the slightest,” Atobe said. He trailed one finger up Tezuka’s arm, over his shoulder and the back of his neck, then around to the other shoulder, paused to receive Tezuka’s empty water bottle, and then sauntered off in the direction of the drinking fountain.

Tezuka watched him go longingly for a beat, and then returned to stretching out his quads.

“Huh,” Echizen said, having lingered behind.

Tezuka cast a quick glance his way to note that _he_ was staring after Atobe, too. Ah well, that probably couldn’t be helped.

At that point, several reporters (well-behaved ones that were allowed because they didn’t bother the players who were otherwise occupied) circled Atobe at the drinking fountain. Atobe’s posture immediately changed, and he puffed up like a proud peacock, charming, dazzling, and more than a little flirtatious. Tezuka dreaded to think what they were talking about.

“You do know what they say, right?” Echizen said, frowning when Atobe glammed it up for a couple of photographs. Heaven only knew why; it wasn’t like Atobe was playing today…

“What who says?” Tezuka asked and regretted it almost immediately, because no matter who ‘they’ were, Tezuka didn’t give a damn what they said.

“The tabloids,” Echizen clarified.

Tezuka snorted. He cared even less about what _they_ said, than he did most people.

“About Atobe, I mean,” Echizen added.

Atobe must’ve said something funny then, because the circle of reporters all laughed, and one of the women leaned in and rested one hand against Atobe’s arm as she did so. Flirtatious.

Tezuka sighed. “Tabloids aren’t to be trusted. As many men and women as they like can try to throw themselves at him, but he’s never going to take the bait.” Indeed, as Tezuka watched, Atobe graciously brushed the reporters aside, and returned back to Tezuka and Echizen, refilled water bottle in hand.

“Why not, though?” Echizen was frowning even further. “Why doesn’t he? He must be tempted.”

“Why would he be?” Tezuka retorted. “He loves me.”

Echizen looked like he wanted to say something more, but Atobe was back within earshot by that point, and Echizen held his tongue.

***

The match between Röhler and Forster, alas, didn’t go as planned. Forster pulled it off at 6-4, and Germany and Australia ended the first day tied at 1-1.

Tezuka didn’t have a moment alone with Echizen again until the consolation drinks at the local pub. Röhler didn’t train with their club, but they were treating him as an honorary member for the night. There were a lot of people there, so Tezuka naturally drifted off to one side, and Echizen drifted in generally the same direction. Atobe had stayed with them for a time, but then he’d gone off to give Röhler a pep talk (after all, either Walter and Julian were going to have to win doubles against the Dorgias brothers, or Röhler would have to beat Jacobs, for Germany to win – both equally tenuous). The way things stood, Tezuka likely wouldn’t even play the final rubber against Forster. A pep talk couldn’t hurt to give Röhler some confidence again, if it came down to him.

Tezuka watched silently, leaning back against the wall in the darkest corner of the room, sipping his beer occasionally. There was a certain pleasure to be had in just watching Atobe in his element. Atobe had always been brilliant at social interactions, the same way that Tezuka was deeply tragic at them, and it was delight to watch just how adept Atobe was, how people naturally flocked to his light.

Echizen, beside Tezuka, must’ve been having similar thoughts. “Still. That’s an awful lot of temptation to resist.” He took a sip of his cola, which – to his earlier scoffing dismay – had been the closet thing the pub had to his usual poison. “I know I couldn’t do it.”

Tezuka considered that comment, because it was interesting, and a bit unfathomable to him. “Couldn’t you, really?” he finally asked curiously.

Echizen blinked over at him, as if as startled at Tezuka’s position as Tezuka was of his. “No. I mean, yeah, sure, at first, when a relationship is fresh and new and exciting. It’s easy to stay focused on just one person then. But as time passes? Don’t you get bored?”

“No,” Tezuka said, “I don’t.”

“But _why_ not?” Echizen asked, sounding genuinely frustrated. “The two of you have been together since forever. You must’ve hit the seven-year-itch by now. Hell, for me, it’s more like seven weeks.”

Tezuka tried to come up with an explanation and found it very hard to do so. It was like trying to explain why his hair was still brown after seven years, or why he still wore glasses. “I enjoy his company. Whenever something interesting happens or I learn something of note, he’s always the first person I want to tell. I feel comfortable around him, the same way that I do when I’m alone, as if he’s not a _person_ the way other people are. I can trust him to stand by my side, and he’s always ready to listen, and he tolerates all of my very weird and annoying habits, the same way I do for him. We…fit.”

That was a horrible way of explaining things, but it gave Echizen something to mull over for the next few minutes, while a chorus of some German drinking song broke out. Atobe obviously didn’t know all the lyrics, but he didn’t pretend to, and he was soberer than some of their party, so his singing still came out better.

“So you’re _never_ tempted?” Echizen finally asked incredulously.

“I…” Tezuka paused and weighed his answer, because he felt that honesty would do Echizen more good than a knee-jerk denial. “It’s not that I don’t ever notice that other men are attractive. It’s just that the thought of being with someone else… It doesn’t feel… ‘Fresh and new and exciting,’ you said?”

Echizen nodded.

“It doesn’t feel like that to me. The thought of being with someone else, it makes me panicky, almost. I couldn’t do that, either to myself or to Atobe. I couldn’t… He…” Tezuka found himself, to his surprise, suddenly feeling very upset. He took a calming breath and put down his beer, even though it was only his second of the night. “I don’t think I could live with myself. I think he loves me enough that he might stay, even if I’d cheated. But the trust would be gone, and he’d always wonder what he’d done wrong, why he was inadequate, and I… I couldn’t hurt him like that.”

Echizen was looking at him wide-eyed, mildly horrified that he’d actually drawn out genuine emotions. Tezuka couldn’t blame him; he would’ve felt the same way.

“Sorry,” Tezuka said, and neither of them talked for a very long time, watching the drama of everyone trying to get Niklas and Monika cabs home, since they clearly weren’t going to make it on foot.

Tezuka had honestly thought he’d scared Echizen off enough that that was the end of it. But, apparently, Echizen had been stewing beside him all along, because when Echizen finally did speak again, he sounded thoroughly wretched.

“ _Why_ , though?” Echizen insisted. “Why are you and Atobe like that? And why _aren’t_ —?”

Echizen’s parents, presumably.

“I don’t know,” Tezuka said. “It…wasn’t easy, even for us. But we tried to be self-aware, and to work together, and to be honest with each other as much as possible. And, with enough of that, it just worked for us. Uniquely, for me at least.”

Echizen gave Tezuka a skeptical look.

“Atobe,” Tezuka glanced over at where Atobe had the tables on either side of him spellbound by whatever story he was telling, “has a way about him. He’s a sort of guiding light that draws people toward him, especially those who need him.” Echizen pulled the bill of his cap over his forehead, as if denying that he’d fallen victim to that very trap. “Including me. Atobe, I think, could be happy with other possibilities. But for me…” Tezuka sighed. “There’s nobody else in this world for me, but Atobe. I would be alone, if I hadn’t met him.” _Like you are_ , Tezuka belatedly realized that he’d implied. Oops, he hadn’t meant to be harsh in that way.

Surprisingly, though, Echizen accepted that, the way that he hadn’t accepted anything else. Maybe it was because there was no ‘why’. Lightning struck or it didn’t. It was all chance. And, if it was all chance, then there was no one to blame.


	10. Chapter 10

Echizen watched, with something akin to horrified fascination, while Atobe and Tezuka said the sappiest goodbye in all of human history. First of all, the layover in Beijing hadn’t even been necessary in the first place; Tezuka could have just taken a commercial flight. But, oh no, that would have deprived Tezuka and Atobe of the opportunity to practically sit in each other’s laps the entire flight. How they could still be this saccharine after all these years was _still_ beyond Echizen.

Now that they’d landed in Beijing and Tezuka was set to deplane, they’d somehow gotten even _worse_. If Echizen had to hear another banal comment about how much one of them was going to miss the other, he might just puke. Then, Atobe shoved his tongue down Tezuka’s throat, like maybe he thought he could crawl inside Tezuka’s body through his mouth and stow away there, which was 1) a disturbing image, and 2) completely unpractical because then Atobe would miss the Japan Open.

Echizen tried to look at something that wasn’t _them_ , but it was impossible. It was like trying to look away from a train wreck. Or, just maybe, like trying not to stare in the window at a Christmas dinner scene, when you were frozen and starving outside.

With a sickening amount of nuzzling and clinging and even _more_ “I’ll miss you”s, Atobe and Tezuka finally managed to completely disentangle, thus finally disproving Echizen’s long-standing theory that they were surgically attached at the hip. Atobe actually _followed_ Tezuka to the door, looking like a kicked puppy, and then they whispered something at the door (Echizen’s psychic powers told him that it was “I’ll miss you”), and Tezuka left. Atobe stood and watched for a minute or so, longer than it would have taken for Tezuka to vanish from sight.

Seriously, they were the grossest lovey-dovey couple Echizen had ever seen.

Finally, with a wistful sigh, Atobe stepped back from the doorway, so the steward could close it, and they could finally finish the last leg of their flight. Echizen hoped Atobe wouldn’t be mopey for the rest of the flight. Echizen might have to spork his eyes out after three hours of _that_.

Atobe half-flounced into the seat beside Echizen, setting off alarms in Echizen’s head that his worst fears were about to come to pass. Then, Atobe received a text.

The stupidest smile Echizen had ever seen lit up Atobe’s face as he read it. Actually, no, that was unfair. _Tezuka’s_ smile, that he got when he got a message from Atobe, was just slightly stupider. So, technically, Atobe’s was only the second stupidest smile Echizen had ever seen.

“If that’s from Tezuka, and it says, ‘I’ll miss you,’ I reserve the right to punch you in the face,” Echizen said, and meant it whole-heartedly.

Atobe looked at him in surprise, like he’d forgotten Echizen was even there. Sheepishly, he showed Echizen his phone.

It _was_ from Tezuka. (Seriously? It had only been five minutes since they’d said goodbye, and they’d only be apart for _two weeks_.) And it said, “Don’t let you guard down,” which was even _worse_ than “I’ll miss you.” Echizen seriously debated becoming their arch-nemesis, just on principle.

However, Atobe received a _second_ text at that point, and Echizen caught a glimpse of it before Atobe quickly retracted his phone, just enough for Echizen to see who it was from.

“Inui?” Echizen frowned. “As in, Inui Sadaharu, formerly of Seigaku? Why is _he_ texting you?”

“That is absolutely none of your business,” Atobe said and shoved Echizen away when he tried to lean over to see Atobe’s phone again. “Well, that’s not technically true. It is entirely your business, but I don’t trust you to know your own business without pulling a runner, so you’ll just have to remain curious until the big reveal.”

Echizen rolled his eyes. “You’re really annoying. You know that, right?”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Atobe scowled right back at him.

Echizen managed not to smile.

***

“Oh, hell no,” Echizen said as soon as the limo pulled to a halt outside the very familiar gates.

“Oh, hell _yes_ ,” Atobe insisted and shoved Echizen out the door.

Echizen debated fighting back, but then he noticed that a half-circle of stunned-looking children were surrounding them, and he refused to look immature in front of a bunch of kids. (And: Ugh! They looked so _young_. Had Echizen really been that young when _he’d_ attended Seigaku?)

Atobe, seemingly oblivious to the gawkers, grabbed Echizen by the arm and half-dragged, half-led him through the gates.

Echizen shook Atobe off after a few steps, because he knew the way to the tennis courts perfectly well.

They had fewer gawkers for a while, like an inverted bell-curve. The first batch had most likely been due to the fact that they’d emerged from a stretch limousine. The few they had in the middle were probably mostly students wondering why there were strange adults around. However, as they approached the tennis courts, the crowd of followers grew again, and this time for a much better reason than the expensive (dumb-ass) car.

“Holy shit!” Echizen heard a particularly carrying whisper. “Isn’t that Atobe Keigo? And Echizen Ryoma?”

“Shh!” was the fierce rejoinder.

Nevertheless, the murmurs followed them past the clubhouse and onto the courts.

“They’re married, you know,” Echizen overheard a whisper from someone wearing one of the Seigaku first-year uniforms. Atobe paused, twitched, and then stalked right on by with his nose held high in the air. Echizen snickered into his hand. It seemed that certain know-it-all first-years had their pro players hilariously mixed up. Well, some things never changed. Echizen made mental note to rib Atobe about it in the Japan Open. It was too funny _not to_.

Echizen caught sight of Momo then, who was waving to them. For a moment, Echizen froze, but he couldn’t run away in front of all Momo’s students. That would just be pathetic.

“Momoshiro,” Atobe greeted him, clasped his hand, and gave him a friendly pat on the back. “So nice to see you again. I’m sorry that my beloved husband _Tezuka_ could not make it here with us today.” He said that last part really loudly, canted in the direction of the misinformed first-year.

Echizen started snickering again.

“You!” Momo glared at Echizen. “Where have you been, brat? You haven’t come to see me in almost two years now.” He grabbed Echizen roughly by the shoulder and dragged him in for a hug. “And, while you’re at it: learn to RSVP!”

Echizen struggled and flailed a bit in Momo’s grip. Over Momo’s shoulder, he could see Atobe standing there, arms crossed, _smirking_ like he knew that Echizen didn’t _really_ object at all. Echizen hadn’t particularly thought about it before, but Atobe’s insight was even more annoying off the courts. It was a mystery how Tezuka put up with it.

“But,” Momo concluded, grinding his knuckles into Echizen’s head with a broad grin, until Echizen couldn’t take it anymore and swatted him away, “since you two are here, how about you give my team an exhibition match?”

Echizen groaned.

Atobe just looked smug. Almost as smug as Momo did.

Echizen officially hated them both.

***

After practice, the three of them went out for dinner. This was both eerily similarly to, yet still a markedly different experience from mooching cheap burgers off his senpais. There were times when it absolutely baffled him how they’d all become adults, although that wasn’t always necessarily a bad thing.

They’d gone to Kawamura Sushi for old times’ sake, although it turned out that shockingly, somehow, Atobe had never been. Echizen supposed the ‘sushi celebration’ days had been a bit before the ‘Team Japan’ days, so Atobe had missed them. All the various teams they’d been on were starting to blur after the years, which was just weird; they weren’t even old yet.

Taka’s father was looking gray now, like an old man. Taka himself was behind the counter, preparing sushi. If anything, his hands looked a little defter than his father’s, who had the slightest tremor with age. Taka’s wife (which was so weird Echizen wasn’t even thinking about it) was bussing the tables. Atobe and Momo exchanged some comments about how the two of them had met in culinary school. Seriously: So. Weird!

Taka chatted with them way too much while he was preparing their order. Echizen worried about getting wasabi’ed, but that had been a very long time ago, and when he took his first bite, it was perfect.

Even Atobe made mildly impressed noises, before he went off on a long, loud pontification about how Japan needed to up their game for the Davis Cup next year, and how downcast Germany had been after their loss, and how Atobe had lost some bet or other with one of the Dorgias brothers (Echizen had never really bothered to keep straight which was which, but Echizen assumed that it was the smart one that was always flirting with Atobe).

It was all vaguely surreal, and Echizen’s attention started drifting away from the nonsense that came out of Atobe’s mouth (and there was soooo much of it; damn, that man could talk endlessly, especially about himself), and instead he tried to figure out what on earth Atobe was up to. Because of _course_ Atobe was up to _something_. This wasn’t just a trip down memory lane for fun.

Echizen got his answer when he tried to order a can of grape Ponta (in one of the few countries in the world that carried this rare treat), and his hand was halted by a forceful grip on the wrist.

“That,” an eerily familiar voice informed him, “is against your new training regimen.”

Echizen gulped. He’d been given terrifying training regimens by that voice in the past.

“Ah good,” Atobe said with a wicked smile, “you made it. Echizen, meet your new personal trainer. I trust you have no objections?”

Echizen looked into the opaque, unholy emptiness that was Inui Sadaharu’s glasses. He wanted to object; really, he did. However, the fact of the matter stood that Inui was possibly the most qualified trainer on the planet. And also, conveniently, one of the few people Echizen respected enough to listen to.

“Yo,” Echizen said instead.

Inui deftly snatched the delectable grape Ponta from out of Echizen’s arm reach and instead replaced it with a glass of…

“Oh god…” Echizen turned white. “Is that…?”

“I’ve heard all sorts of reports about how you’ve been neglecting proper diet over the last months,” Inui said evilly. He placed the yellowish-green swill in front of Echizen. “Drink it all.”

Echizen looked plaintively at Momo, Taka, and then Atobe, for help. Momo pointed and laughed and bragged about how he was a genius for not going pro. Taka deliberately fled to attend to several other customers. Atobe just smirked, which was how Echizen knew that he was behind this whole thing. Making Atobe his arch-nemesis was sounding like a better idea by the hour.

Defeatedly, Echizen accepted the glass and, with a grimace, downed it.

And blinked.

“That actually…” he frowned down at the empty glass, “…wasn’t bad?”

“I told you,” Inui said with satisfaction, “I’ve been working on improving the taste.”

“Told me when?” Echizen asked, baffled.

“Nine years, three months, twelve days, and six hours ago,” Inui informed him. “That was more than sufficient time to perform all the necessary lab tasting.”

“Whatever,” Echizen said, because there was no possible sane response to that.

***

After dinner, they headed back to the Atobes’ old mansion (which was probably still their current mansion in Japan, but whatever. Echizen, at least, hadn't been there since he was 13 or so). Momo begged off, because he had to get back home to his fiancée (gag), but Inui stayed with them, reading off weaknesses and statistical patterns in Echizen’s game that made his head spin. Data tennis, it turned out, was exactly as annoying as it had been back in middle school. Imagine that.

Despite the fact that the mansion was stupidly huge, Atobe took them to a relatively cozy parlor that overlooked the lawn and, almost out of sight to the left, the tennis courts. Echizen looked longingly off in that direction but, alas, apparently Atobe and Inui had decided they all had years to catch up on. That was kind of weird. Echizen vaguely thought of Inui as someone who had been on his team, not Atobe’s, but Echizen supposed Inui’s Team Japan days with Atobe were even more recent, in their minds.

Echizen was about the fall asleep from boredom when the doorbell sounded, and Atobe and Inui both perked up. Apparently, they hadn't even bothered to inform him that they were all waiting for someone. Just great.

Echizen listened to the sounds of distant conversation that drew closer as their guest was guided back to the parlor by one of the servants.

“Ah good,” Atobe said with his conceited-rich-host smile when the door opened, “you made it.”

Their visitor looked even less impressed by Atobe’s smile than Echizen did.

“Kaidoh-senpai?” Echizen asked in wide-eyed disbelief before he could stop himself. Old habits with suffixes were hard to break.

Kaidoh grunted in that unmistakable hissing sort of way. The weirdest thing was that, without that and out of context, Echizen might have walked right by him on the street. Kaidoh was wearing the typical cubicle-worker’s uniform – dark slacks, white button-up shirt, suit jacket, and weary expression – so that only that fiercely determined look in his eyes set him apart.

Echizen tried to find a way to say, “You look creepy in normal-person clothes,” but then decided that he'd rather not say anything at all, given the murderous look on Kaidoh’s face, so he took a sip of his grape Ponta instead. Except, oops, it was just water because Inui had nixed all soft-drinks for the foreseeable future.

Echizen was starting to see a dim outline of how this wasn’t going to go his way at all (or, alternately, was going exactly his way).

“Echizen,” Kaidoh acknowledged gruffly, “good to see you again. Atobe, thank you for inviting me over.” Then, Kaidoh caught sight of Inui, and he blushed horribly and coughed into his hand to cover it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he finally said lamely.

Inui just smiled, almost sweetly (soooooooo disturbing, seriously), and patted the spot on the sofa beside him. “How have you been?” he asked, sounding concerned. “How’s work?”

Kaidoh took the seat beside Inui without protest and grunted. “I’m going to strangle my boss,” he answered, “…still.”

And that was when Echizen realized that the office clothes weren’t just a clever disguise; Kaidoh actually had a normal-person job that he went to and, presumably, had just come back from. The thought was almost too weird to process.

Kaidoh bitched about reports and mis-filings and incompetent coworkers and performance reviews, to the point that even Echizen, who had never experienced any of these things, wanted to run away screaming. Seriously, how did Kaidoh _live like that_?

Most of Kaidoh’s comments were (unsurprisingly) directly primarily in Inui’s direction, which gave Atobe the opportunity to lean into Echizen and whisper in his ear, “You see our opening. Try, if at all possible, to be somewhat persuasive. Or, at the very least, not actively _dis_ suasive.”

Echizen gave him an annoyed look, because Atobe really was unbearably smug (especially on occasions where it was proven that, alas, he was actually incredibly smart).

Kaidoh must’ve been reminded of their presence at Atobe’s movement, however, because he turned out of Inui’s circle (where he’d naturally drifted) and asked about them, in turn, followed by a somewhat disappointed, “Is Tezuka not here?”

“He’s playing the China Open this year,” Atobe apologized.

Echizen snorted at that. “More like: he conveniently plays the China Open _every_ year, just so he has an excuse to miss the Japan Open,” he countered.

Atobe glared him.

Inui and Kaidoh both gave Atobe inquiring looks.

Atobe laughed and waved one hand in the air in a careless gesture. “Tezuka is a strange and mysterious creature, whom not even I can tame fully,” he conceded. “But, then, why would I want to, when I can enjoy that streak of wildness in my bed nightly?” His smirk was downright wicked.

Echizen had to admit that it was clever move. Both Inui and Kaidoh were so put off by the last, that they were thoroughly distracted from pursuing the former. In the end, they were actually glad when Atobe diverted their attention away from the matter entirely with:

“Tezuka sends his regrets, of course, and hopes you’ll be able to join us for Christmas in Switzerland this year.”

Kaidoh sighed. “No way I’ll be able to get enough time off work.”

“That’s too bad,” Atobe said in the fakest-sounding sorry voice Echizen had ever heard. “Inui?”

“I suppose…” Inui began thoughtfully, “yes, I’ll be there this year.”

Kaidoh looked at him in surprise.

“I’ve had it with grading college lab books,” Inui announced. “Echizen has offered me a position as his new personal trainer. I’m taking the job.”

Kaidoh frowned. “But that means that you’ll be…?”

“It will delay my dissertation, yes,” Inui conceded. “But given the amount of real-world data I’ll be able to collect, I should be set to complete my PhD afterward.”

“…Moving away?” Kaidoh finished, instead.

Inui looked down at this and bit his lip. “I will miss our lunches,” he said. “We’ll just have to catch up when tournaments bring me back to Japan.”

Kaidoh looked somewhat alarmed that this. Echizen hadn’t even known that they’d kept in touch (although it wasn’t entirely surprising).

“When are you leaving?” Kaidoh finally asked, bereft.

“Immediately following the Japan Open,” Inui answered apologetically. “I believe we’re switching to a new tennis club in California, and we’ll need to get settled?” He looked at Echizen at this for confirmation.

“We are?” Echizen said, as surprised as Kaidoh was.

“You are,” Atobe agreed mysteriously.

“So soon?” Kaidoh sounded a bit dazed.

“I need to begin interviewing for the rest of the training staff,” Inui insisted, adjusting his glasses. “We’re rebuilding entirely from scratch, as I understand it. I’ll need to find Echizen a number of qualified training and endurance partners, to gear up for next season.”

“I see…” Kaidoh sounded subdued, and a little suspicious.

Echizen glared at Atobe in a way that he hoped thoroughly conveyed: _You’re not subtle or clever at all, asshole._

***

The next morning, Echizen, Inui, and Atobe went to train at some tennis club that Echizen had only vaguely ever heard of.

Echizen figured out _why_ after approximately five minutes, when one of the assistant coaches emerged from the office, balked for just the _tiniest_ instant, and then nodded in Echizen’s direction.

“Tokugawa,” Echizen acknowledged, looking sheepishly away from where Tokugawa still kept his left arm tightly bandaged for practice. It really was a shame that the injury had cut his pro career short.

“Echizen,” Tokugawa agreed, as blank as ever. “Imagine you being here.” His gaze flicked toward Atobe for one second, and then he continued on his way.

Echizen glared at Atobe.

“He’s hardly going to leave his current position to go gallivanting about the world, just because _I_ asked him to,” Atobe informed Echizen. “In any case, I’ve provided you with a temporary practice court and even a trainer. If you’ll excuse me, I have my own training to attend to,” and he actually headed _out_.

Echizen experienced a weird moment of panic, but then Inui commented, “Hmm, Tokugawa does possess 98.2% of all of the necessary skills to be an excellent head coach.”

Echizen couldn’t _not_ ask: “What’s the other 1.8%?”

“He is still too young to have been given solo experience in that role,” Inui answered. “And, also, he doesn’t smile very much.”

Crap. That sounded absolutely _perfect_ , for both of them.

“I’m going to warm up,” Echizen said.

Inui was busy futzing around with his tablet, apparently calibrating something on some spreadsheet that Echizen didn’t even _want_ to look at more closely. “Go ahead…” Inui waved him off absent-mindedly.

It was totally a coincidence that Echizen happened to wander in the same direction Tokugawa had. Completely random chance.

“Echizen,” Tokugawa said again, when Echizen, as a complete fluke, passed by him on the way to the far court.

Echizen paused in his step and studied the older couple that Tokugawa was tutoring. “You get a lot of newbies here?” he asked, because the couple – while seemingly enjoying themselves – were nowhere near skilled enough to require Tokugawa’s more esoteric talents.

“Whoever signs up for beginner-to-intermediary lessons gets me,” Tokugawa said seriously, before calling out to the woman to keep her elbow open.

“Huh,” Echizen said. “You like it?”

“It keeps me in tennis,” Tokugawa answered, and the fingers of his right hand instinctively reached over to clutch his left side. He caught himself mid-motion and returned to his usual implacable stance.

“Hmm,” Echizen said.

“Mmm,” Tokugawa agreed, and stepped onto the court to offer the pair some tips on their swings.

Echizen didn’t move until Tokugawa returned.

“How much?” Tokugawa asked.

“How much what?” Echizen retorted.

“How much does the position offer?” Tokugawa clarified. “I still have medical bills and at least two more reconstructive surgeries.”

“ _Anything_ you want,” even Echizen was startled at the desperation in his own words. “Er, I mean, sure. Whatever. Those should be basic enough to cover.”

Tokugawa’s eyes flicked his way for a brief moment. “Good,” he agreed. “I’ll give my notice today.”

“Good,” Echizen agreed as well, feeling strangely warm inside.

***

At that point, Echizen wasn’t even surprised when he found Inui again, only to learn that Kaidoh had turned up, too.

Kaidoh crossed his arms and scowled at Echizen. It was, of course, the middle of a work day.

“I take it you _didn’t_ give notice?” Echizen asked wryly.

“I haven’t played tennis regularly in almost five years,” Kaidoh said gruffly. “I _have_ , however, been running a marathon a month for all that time.”

Echizen’s eyes widened. “You really don’t have to convince me…” he insisted. After all, everyone knew Kaidoh was a thoroughly qualified fitness freak.

“I have one condition,” Kaidoh insisted.

“Yeah?”

“ _No reporting to dotted-line managers_ ,” Kaidoh hissed venomously.

Echizen gulped at took a step back. “I have no idea what those even _are_ , but if we encounter one, you can fire them.”

“Good,” Kaidoh agreed. “Now, why aren’t you warming up?”

***

At that point, Echizen wasn’t surprised by anything anymore, which was a good thing, because it completely annoyed Toyama when he ‘spontaneously’ turned up out of the blue to be Echizen’s rallying partner later that afternoon, and Kevin “seriously, is that all the greeting I get after flying halfway around the world?” Smith, who was – apparently – the de-facto owner of Echizen’s new tennis club.

“Well, technically, my father’s name is attached to it,” Kevin explained, in the car ride back to Atobe’s that evening. “But after my mother got a controlling interest in the divorce, it’s mostly the two of us that run everything. My father only shows up as a guest coach occasionally, and only as long as he’s current in his AA meetings.”

Kevin’s father, Echizen recalled, was one of the few forces in the world odious enough to repel Echizen’s own father.

Then Toyama cut in with, “How do you run a tennis club?” under the apparent misapprehension that this question could be answered in five words or less. Kevin tried to explain (in badly broken Japanese), while Toyama misunderstood everything he said (in badly broken sanity).

Inui and Kaidoh were whispering under their breaths and occasionally pointing animatedly at something on Inui’s tablet, oblivious to the entire exchange.

Tokugawa, although he undoubtedly had insight into the matter after having worked as an assistant coach at a tennis club for the last several years, just sat there in taciturn silence, gazing out the window with his arms crossed over his chest, while Kevin and Toyama started yelling at each other ever louder.

Echizen wanted to bury his head under a pillow ten minutes into the ride. Seriously, it was _just_ like Seigaku.

“You’re an asshole,” he informed Atobe as soon as they arrived back at Atobe’s mansion.

Atobe, who was getting his ankle wrapped by one of his own trainers, looked up from his phone at Echizen in surprise. “It’s not my fault you are incapable of functionally working your own perfectly serviceable network. Networking 101 hint: Once you’ve already built a healthy network, actually _use it_ when you’re in need. Even if 80% of the requests you make fail, the rest will bear fruit,” Atobe pontificated haughtily.

Echizen just rolled his eyes.

Atobe sighed. “After all those calls I made _for you_ , this is the thanks I get?”

“ _Such_ a jerk…” Echizen grumbled and bumped Atobe’s shoulder with his just slightly, before he trailed off after Kevin, who apparently had heap-loads of paperwork he needed Echizen to sign.

“Hmph,” Atobe said, nose in the air, but he still had that pompous look on his face.

Echizen decided he was going to absolutely _murder_ him at the Japan Open. In fact, Echizen ditched Kevin (to Kevin’s annoyed protests) to track down Toyama right _now_ , because he was pretty sure that Toyama could feed him the shots that would, yes, finally destroy that stupid Tannhäuser serve _forever_.

Karma was totally a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized, upon writing this chapter, that I'd never actually written anything from Echizen's POV before. It's really quite fun. :P
> 
> If you've been paying too close attention, you might have noticed that I switched the total chapter-count from 7 up to 11 fairly early on. That's because all of chapters 6-10 were originally crammed into one chapter that sucked massively because it didn't go into enough depth about anything _at all_. I've been a little slower to release than usual, because I've been racing behind the scenes to flesh everything out into the current chapters 6-10. It was a lot of work, but the fic is _so much better_ in its current form, you wouldn't even believe.
> 
> As a sad side-effect, though, I had been hoping, in being brief, that I wouldn't be tempted to write any weird spin-offs of Echizen's new team, because they are all ridiculously fun characters to write. Now, having written them just a little, I'm tempted, alas. We'll see how long I can stave off that impulse...
> 
> I'm putting up the epilogue to this fic now, together with the last chapter, so that's available, too.


	11. Epilogue

“Tezuka, my beloved, forgive me!” Atobe demanded the instant their reunion kiss came to an end in the Shanghai airport.

“Why?” Tezuka asked, looking appropriately stunned and disheveled at the intensity of their re-convergence. “Did you finally murder Echizen in his sleep?”

Atobe chuckled into Tezuka’s shoulder as Tezuka shuffled them into the awaiting car. “Alas, no, my crimes are far worse than that,” he admitted.

“Oh?” Tezuka said skeptically.

“Ah, my love,” Atobe despaired, “I fear we’ve created a monster.”

Tezuka snorted. “Ah yes. I saw the results of the Japan Open, although I haven’t had time to watch your finals match yet. I understand condolences are in order?”

“That ungrateful brat…” Atobe grumbled under his breath. “You know, I debated not even using Tannhäuser against him, just to be a bitch, but you know how plans like that tend to go around Echizen. In the end, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka said sympathetically.

“And do you know what he _said_ when he got a return ace off it?” Atobe complained.

“‘Mada mada dane’?” Tezuka hazarded an educated guess.

Atobe just groaned in agreement and leaned into Tezuka so hard that he tipped Tezuka back over onto his back along the length of the car seat, with Atobe coiled up on top of him, their limbs tangled every which way.

Slowly, Tezuka’s arms came up to encircle him, which really was quite lovely. “You’re a good friend,” Tezuka said softly.

Atobe made a grumping sound and snuggled deeper into his Tezuka-shaped mattress.

“And also extremely sexy,” Tezuka added, pressing a kiss to the crown of Atobe’s head.

Atobe sighed. Even he couldn’t bring himself to resent Echizen (much). After all, Atobe had snatched away Echizen’s US Open hopes, so it seemed only fair that Echizen got Atobe back in the Japan Open…just this once.

“And,” Tezuka assured him confidently, “you’ll destroy him next time.”

“Oh?” Atobe looked at him curiously.

“Indeed,” Tezuka agreed and kissed him.

Atobe didn’t know quite how it worked out that way, but Tezuka somehow got them rolled over during the kiss, without falling off the seat, so that Atobe was on the bottom now.

“Why did I help that little monster again?” Atobe complained rhetorically, as he watched Tezuka’s head duck down between his thighs.

“Because,” Tezuka answered anyway, “now he’s finally _gone_ , so we can have some adult-time all to ourselves.”

Atobe found that argument highly persuasive and would have said as much, but then Tezuka’s mouth was doing a thing, and Atobe’s words stopped…good…being…and stuff…thing… _mouth_ …

***

Atobe did hate loose ends ever so much.

That was why he sat alone in the vacant locker room that Echizen’s team theoretically would have occupied at the Shanghai Masters, feet dangling over the edge of the bench, waiting for trouble.

Trouble arrived promptly on schedule. Atobe was relieved, to tell the truth. He’d sent the proper misinformation through that reporter Inoue, but unpredictable people were always exactly that. Atobe hadn’t wanted to drag this out any longer than was absolutely necessary. After all, he had a tournament to win.

“Hello,” Atobe said crisply to the entirely expected intruder.

Echizen Nanjiroh looked put out for exactly one second, before his eyes raked up and down Atobe’s body and he smiled salaciously. “Well, hello there…” he said in a suggestive tone.

“Looking for Ryoma, I take it?” Atobe asked.

“Well,” Nanjiroh considered thoughtfully, closing in on Atobe from one side, “let’s not be hasty. I wouldn’t mind a little tête-à-tête with you first.” One arm came up to prop himself up against the wall, conveniently right next to Atobe’s cheek, pinning Atobe in place.

Atobe just smirked. He knew well enough how to deal with harmless old lechers like Nanjiroh. His body really was a most convenient weapon in situations like these. “I’m afraid Ryoma won’t be interrupting us,” he retorted slyly. “In fact, as I understand, he’s halfway around the world right now.”

Nanjiroh scratched his chin and the sparse hair that grew there. “Is that so?” he teased. “Does that mean that we’re all alone?”

Atobe slid off the bench and under Nanjiroh’s arm swiftly, gracefully, as he deftly avoided the fingers that had just aimed to pinch his bottom. Nanjiroh pouted miserably at this.

“Perhaps you can do me a favor,” Atobe informed him, sauntering aimlessly (well, except for the seductive sway of his hips, of course) over to the far lockers. “I seem to have a loose end that needs tying up…”

Nanjiroh grinned hopefully at this. “I’m very good at tying up loose ends,” he agreed. “But what’s in it for me?” He gave Atobe’s ass a longing, lascivious look.

Atobe snapped his fingers sharply, catching Nanjiroh’s attention. “I don’t enjoy failure,” he informed the man, the flirtatious tone suddenly gone from his voice, as his usual ice crept back in.

Nanjiroh’s eyes narrowed. He’d known, of course, that Atobe was playing him. He was too smart not to. But he was also too horny to miss a chance to play, just a little, with someone with a body as incredible as Atobe’s was. “I don’t imagine you do,” he retorted.

“I keep a wide circle of contacts, resources, and the like,” Atobe continued. “In case of emergencies, you understand.”

“Oh, of course,” Nanjiroh said, sounding ever-so-slightly like he was laughing inwardly at Atobe.

“Well, I had an emergency,” Atobe explained, “but it turned out that one of those contacts had slipped entirely between my fingers. It’s as if he vanished from this earth.”

Nanjiroh blinked at him, not quite sure where this was heading.

“You are, I think we both can acknowledge, a very persistent man when it comes to hunting down your prey.” Atobe deliberately brushed right by him on his way to the door. A satisfied smirk curved his lips when he heard Nanjiroh’s sharp intake of breath when their bodies, just barely, brushed. “So,” he concluded, “I want to hire you to find my missing person.”

Nanjiroh smiled at him, eyes dancing with delight at the little challenge Atobe had put up between them. “Does your missing person have a name?” he asked.

“Echizen Ryoga,” Atobe answered.

Nanjiroh’s eyes widened, and he inclined his head, just slightly, at a hand expertly played. “Yeah,” he agreed casually, scratching his chin again, “where did I last drop off that prodigal son of mine?”

“I think that, perhaps, your efforts might be better spent pursuing the son whom you’ve neglected,” Atobe suggested, “and not the son who would enjoy a little breathing room.”

Nanjiroh laughed and waved a finger in Atobe’s direction. “If I were ten years younger…” he said wistfully, “I would’ve _loved_ to have played you in my prime…”

Atobe nodded in acknowledgement of the very fine compliment. “Then, you’ll continue my search?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Nanjiroh agreed. “Who knows? It might be fun.”

“So glad to hear it,” Atobe said dryly.

“Although I don’t suppose…?” Nanjiroh began.

Atobe looked at him levelly.

“Just one kiss?” Nanjiroh winked at him.

Atobe snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said and flashed the ring on his left hand, “I’m married.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Nanjiroh laughed as Atobe opened the door and escaped out into the corridor.

***

That evening, after Atobe and Tezuka had both advanced to the next round in the tournament, they settled back into their master suite at one of the Shanghai hotels Atobe’s father had a business arrangement with. Atobe was thoroughly exhausted after the negotiations with Echizen Nanjiroh, on top of the usual post-match fatigue. Heaven only knew how Tezuka had gotten him out of the limo and up the elevator.

“You’re looking particularly self-satisfied today,” Tezuka commented as he poured Atobe into bed.

Atobe let out an epic yawn and curled into the pillows. “I diverted an impending disaster today, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh?” Tezuka asked, crawling into bed beside Atobe and yanking a ludicrously oversized tome in after him.

“In the form of Echizen Nanjiroh,” Atobe explained and told Tezuka the highlights and, in very much detail off Tezuka’s worried look, about how he’d handily evaded any wandering hands.

Tezuka looked satisfied when Atobe finished his recollection, and flipped his giant tome open on his lap.

“What did you tell the brat, anyway, when I left the two of you alone?” Atobe asked, sidling up against the warmth of Tezuka’s thigh as he prepared to go to sleep. “Whatever it was, it was quite effective in opening Echizen’s mind to possibilities. It made my job so much easier.”

“I only reminded him,” Tezuka said, not even looking up from the page, “that, despite what it feels like on the court, tennis is a team sport. Our success – and his – doesn’t come from our skill alone, but from those who support us along the way.”

“All these years, and you still gloat about Nationals like a bastard,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka just smiled his enigmatic smile. “Not just that,” he corrected. “Echizen and I are alike in one way: we both have the natural inclination to push other people away. So I just told him that it’s worth denying that instinct when the right person comes along.” Tezuka’s fingers reached over to trail affectionately over Atobe’s cheek, and his voice softened as he confessed, “I wouldn’t be half the player I was today, if not for you. Successful, perhaps. But _happy_? That person is out there for Echizen right now, perhaps even someone he left by the wayside previously, if only he would open his eyes and _look_.”

Atobe kissed Tezuka’s fingertips. “That’s sweet, but I’m tired. Read me to sleep?”

Tezuka blushed and looked away pointedly.

Atobe quirked an eyebrow. “Why, Tezuka,” he eyed the massive tome skeptically, “just what _are_ you reading?”

“Nothing,” Tezuka insisted and tried to hide the tome away.

However, it turned out Atobe wasn’t as tired as all that, and he snatched it back. It turned into a little tussle, which Atobe would have lost when Tezuka cheated and resorted to tickling, but fortunately Atobe’s foot went flying and knocked Tezuka clear off the edge of the bed.

From the floor, Tezuka glared up at him.

Atobe flipped open his prize with a smirk. And then blinked. “I was not aware that they even _made_ compilations of yaoi manga this large,” he said in disbelief.

“Shut up,” Tezuka shoved him over, got back in his side of the bed, and stole his book back from Atobe peevishly.

Atobe curled up beside him, his head on the pillow and his arm looped around Tezuka’s waist, where Tezuka persisted in reading his faux-grim tome, despite having been found out. “Why do people always think you’re the intellectual one of us again?” he wondered.

“Because,” Tezuka said seriously, “I’m much more seriouser.”

At which point Atobe had no choice but to whap him over the head with his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! It's much longer than I intended, but it's done. ^_^
> 
> As for what I'm writing next... I'm in the middle of writing fics for both the PoT timeline and the future timeline. I'm not sure which one will get done first, actually, but it'll probably take longer than my usual updates.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's reading!


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